


Better Things

by BB90



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Alternate Universe - Light Is Not Kira, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Non-Consensual Touching, One-Sided Attraction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Drama, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 06:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9979787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BB90/pseuds/BB90
Summary: AU: Beyond Birthday picks up the Death Note and decides it's the perfect tool for finally capturing L's undivided attention. As B's twisted mind games steadily gain momentum, L fears he might be in over his head for the very first time. However, Light Yagami, brilliant young student with a personal vendetta, is more than willing to lend a hand. (Eventual BxL, LxLight)





	1. Break-In

**Author's Note:**

> In terms of setting, this is supposed to be taking place just a couple months before the manga story started – so in the fall of 2003. The ages of the characters at this point in the story are as follows:
> 
> L (born 1979)- Is just about to turn 24.  
> B (born 1985)- is 18 years old. (A little guess work there, since the canon doesn't specify his age as far as I know?)  
> Light (born 1986)-would be 17 at this time.  
> Mello (born 1989)- is not quite 14 yet.  
> Matt (born 1990)- is 13 years old.  
> Near (born 1991)- is barely 12 years old.
> 
> In this AU the "Another Note" case did not happen, and B's stay at the orphanage therefore extends until it coincides with Near and Mello's. Slight creative license is taken in that a few minor details of the Death Note rules may be a bit altered or ignored (not on purpose, but hey, shit's complicated), and L interacts face-to-face with the Wammy's House inhabitants. Hopefully nothing too jarring in the end, as it's done for the sake of better exploring the "what if's" of these characters together.
> 
> Well then, if that sounds bearable enough, let's get on with it, huh?

**October 15, 2003**

-

It was a chilly autumn night in Winchester, and most sane inhabitants of Wammy's House had long ago locked their doors, turned off their lights, and climbed into their beds for a good night's sleep. Beyond Birthday was not one of these individuals, and he had more interesting things to attend to this particular night.

B crept along the moonlit roof of the orphanage, gripping the shingles with his bare toes and fingers. It was a dizzying plummet to the school grounds below, but he was hunting, and his mind was focused on his prey alone. 

When B reached the edge of the roof, he folded into a crouch and peered down along the wall beneath him. His eyes narrowed as he spotted his target — the lone illuminated window on this side of the mansion — and then he hoisted his feet over the roof's edge and let himself drop.

It was thrilling to feel his body suspended in mid-air before his hands smacked down against the ledge of the window. He held tight and crammed his bare toes into a crack in the masonry, hissing as one of his toenails was almost torn off. His heartbeat was in his throat, and his foot throbbed, but he'd made it. He pulled himself up to get a better look inside.

The room through the glass appeared the most luxurious in all of Wammy's, furnished with expensive armchairs, tasteful art, and a beautiful canopied bed. Everything was meant for the guest of honour, after all. B noted that the fireplace housed only a pile of sputtering embers, indicating that the room's inhabitant had not been there to stoke the fire for at least an hour or two. This pleased him, as he was more than ready to get the hell off that windowsill and back onto a solid floor again.

B hiked himself up on one forearm and pulled a switchblade out of his pocket. He opened it with a flick of the wrist, then eased the blade in between the two halves of the window and slid it upwards. There was a tiny click as the metal hook holding the panes together swung back from its clasp. B coaxed it open. Another push, a little struggle, and he stood safely inside the room.

Finally alone inside L's private living quarters. It had been so much easier than he expected. Oh, it was delicious. 

But where to begin?

B sneered as he felt the plush carpet under his bare feet. Only the absolute best for L, of course. The man had always been so dreadfully spoiled. B took strange pleasure in the fact that his bloody toenail now left angry stains in its wake.

Yes, L was spoiled. But B had to admit, the man wasn't lazy. It looked almost as though a library had exploded in this room. There were mountains of books on the desk, chairs and bedside tables. Some of the texts were lying open and underlined, handwritten notes crammed in the margins. The walls were plastered with charts and photographs, and a tower of case files stood wedged between the bookshelves and the mini fridge. B shook his head in a mixture of derision and wonder. No matter how organized, it was incredible that the detective could deduce anything coherent while drowning in those heaps of information.

All such idle musings left his mind when he spied the closet door across the room. He bounded over to it and threw open the door, and then he laughed to himself.

Just as he'd expected. Nothing but a few generic white shirts and faded blue jeans, hanging limply together. B yanked his shirt over his head and stepped out of his pants, making sure to retrieve the knife from them first, and then plucked the nearest white shirt from its hanger. 

L's clothes were pleasantly soft from regular use, and baggy on B's thin frame. He pressed a sleeve of the stolen shirt to his nose and inhaled, sighing as the subtle musky scent of L flooded his nostrils. Here wearing his clothes, he was closer to becoming his favourite obsession than ever before. 

The boy grinned at his reflection in the full-length mirror. The outfit really did complete the picture. He was simply the spitting image of L.

True, it wasn't a perfect match: his nose was sharper, he stood an inch shorter, and there were the mysterious pupils glinting faintly red, though it almost could be passed off as a trick of the firelight if one did not look too closely. But sizing himself up now with these clothes, he was sure anyone would have sworn they were twins. Or brothers, at the very least. 

They had the same unruly black hair. The same complexion. Their posture was identically bad. Granted, B had done his best to accentuate those similarities with some makeup and a lot of practiced mimicry, but it certainly didn't stop him from glowing to see just how L-like he now appeared.

Eventually he tore himself away from his reflection. He had to keep moving, because it would not do to get caught in the middle of his investigation. There was so much left to explore, and the case files were now screaming for his attention.

B grabbed the nearest folder, making a point to hold it pinched between his index fingers and thumbs by the topmost corners. He scanned the contents with astonishing speed, and then tossed it down on the bed to reach for another. And another. His lips twitched as he read the words silently to himself. Out of practiced habit, he dropped a corner of the file and brought a thumbnail to his mouth to nibble. The wheels in his head churned, processing all the new insight.

So, it appeared that L was busy solving a handful of cases in surrounding areas. Well, that accounted for L's sudden return to Wammy's. It was a relatively close and incredibly secure headquarters for his latest investigations. That is, incredibly secure if one didn't take into account meddling students with a peculiar affinity for scaling walls.

It had been a shock to everyone when L's limo came rolling through the gates of the orphanage grounds a little over a week ago. L returning to Wammy's? When hell froze over, maybe. He hadn't even bothered showing up for A's funeral, B thought angrily. 

And still, no explanation was provided for Wammy's residents when he did show up, of course. L's life was an extremely private matter, even to be kept guarded from the children who were clambering to be his next successor. Even B, who was currently next in line to the title.

Especially B. L had never really trusted him.

Despite the fact that he'd been living in their orphanage again for nine whole days now, the man could be a ghost for all they'd seen of him. He'd barely glanced at or uttered a word to anyone, and hardly left the room that B was now invading. The fact that he was currently elsewhere — doing only Watari knew what — had been a pretty lucky break. B hadn't been content with the whispered conjecture of other curious classmates. At least now this particular mystery was confirmed.

He smirked as he tore the folders into shreds. Oh, L was going to be furious. He tossed the handfuls of paper into the air like confetti. _It will be delicious watching L try to ignore this_ , he mused, particles of white snowing down to coat his hair in a stark contrast. 

Next he moved on to destroying the books. The boy's frustration ebbed little by little with every page he ripped from the binding, and the fire now blazed soothingly against his back, rekindled by the pages B tossed into it.  _One for every occasion he'd been spurned by his idol._

Then B snapped open the switchblade and made straight for the detective's bed. He stabbed the pillows, ripping them jaggedly from top to bottom and shaking them out until the room was under siege from a stuffing blizzard.  _A slice for every moment those eyes met his own, glazed over with unmistakable apathy._

Finally, he ransacked the mini-fridge. B pulled out every single dish and tossed them to shatter on the carpet. He mashed the desserts into the fibres of the rug with fingers and toes, revelling in the feel of it.  _A dish for every month of that prolonged silence._

The floor was soon smeared beyond recognition, an atrocious mural of chocolate syrup, feathers, shredded paper, broken glass and dried blood.

B looked around at his handiwork with a sense of accomplishment. He'd certainly done enough to sign his own death warrant at this point, but he wasn't done just yet. Everyone knew a detective as important and well-equipped as L would not trust all his invaluable case evidence to those paper copies. His precious laptop had to be around somewhere.

B reached underneath the bed, feeling for anything computer-shaped. _Hmm._ Dust bunnies, more dust bunnies, a candy bar wrapper, and...  _b_ _ingo._  His hand brushed against something smooth and rectangular. He just had to stretch a few more inches to grab it, and then —

  _Click._

 The sound of the door unlocking behind him sent a jolt of adrenaline singing through B's blood, and he was out from under the bed in a flash. His heart was instantly pounding in his ears, and tendrils of excitement unfurled in the pit of his stomach as he saw the doorknob was turning. 

Caught red-handed, no time to escape. Now _this_ would prove interesting.

 --

B didn't waste a second. By the time the door opened he'd already settled into the nest of pulverized bedding. He looked as if he'd been lounging there for the longest time, a prince idly surveying his kingdom of ruins.  After a long moment, he inclined his head to gaze with one haughty, gleaming eye at the figure now standing frozen in the doorway.

"Oh, hello there, sir. Welcome back to Wammy's. You've been a busy man as usual, it seems."

Absolute. Suffocating. Silence.

B smacked his lips, crossed one leg over the other, and then finally rolled his head sideways to meet the other's stare head-on. 

"As you can see, I took the liberty of redecorating the place. I think it really adds a touch of—"

He nearly flinched as he was cut short by the sound of the door slamming shut. L now stood with his back pressed against the wood, staring wide-eyed and mute.

B didn't let the ringing silence last long. "Now really, sir, manners," he scolded in the most patronizing tone he could muster. "There are children sleeping just down the hall." He sat upright to get a better look, grasping his knees with both hands in a perfect caricature of the other man's mannerisms.

That deadly silent man.

They watched each other in a suffocating moment, devoid of air, devoid of language. Despite his facade of calm, B's heart was thudding loudly in his ears. It had been far too long since he'd been alone with the man, as the object of L's full attention. The door-slamming was mildly amusing, but it was not enough. B had anticipated L treating him to white-hot wrath, and he found himself quickly growing impatient with the detective's stony silence. He wanted to hear L's voice again.

"Why don't you say something, sir? After I went through all this trouble to ensure a visit with you. You're not an easy man to track down, even when living under the same roof. It takes a lot of careful plotting just to be _graced_ with your presence." 

L made no response, his gaze alone betraying his reaction, as it roamed over the disaster zone with utter disbelief. B hadn't known the man's eyes could get any wider. He brought a thumb to his lips and cocked his head. 

"Cat got your tongue, sir? Aren't you the slightest bit curious how I got in here? Hmm?"

L's eyes snapped back to the boy on the bed, now full of a fire that B secretly found delicious. But L still had yet to move from where he stood, back plastered to the door, hand clutching the knob. 

It made B angry. He wanted to shake L or bash his head into the wall. Anything that would force him to speak, move, reciprocate.

_Tap tap tap._

A delicate knock on the door interrupted the staring contest. Both heads jerked toward the sound in surprise. There was a pause, and then Watari's polite, hushed words: 

"Ahem. I have your tea prepared, if you'd care to open the door."

Another painful pause. B waited, not daring to breathe. 

And then, finally, at long last, L spoke. 

"Thank you, Watari. Please leave it outside the door where I can retrieve it later." The soft sound of that dangerous voice, so close by, sent a fresh spike through B's pulse.

"Very well. Anything else you need?"

L's penetrating gaze was trained on B the entire time, though his speech was directed at the man outside the room. 

"Thank you, but that will be all for tonight," he dismissed quietly.

"Yes, alright. Goodnight." There was a clinking sound as Watari set the tray outside the door, followed by footsteps as he made his slow retreat. 

Alone at long last.

\--

 B blinked in surprise as the detective abruptly brushed past him into the room.

L went straight for the armchair in the far corner, gingerly picking his way across the bits of glass and ruined book covers that littered the floor. By all appearances, the man was now entirely unaffected by the surrounding chaos. He seated himself on the cushion and drew his legs up to perch in his usual hunker, large eyes staring at nothing in particular, chin lowering to rest on the hands clutching his knees.

As if B wasn't even there. 

B bristled at the unexpected snub. Well, the detective sure was an expert at pissing him off, he'd give him that. But L wasn't getting off the hook that easily. B did not take kindly to the silent treatment game, and he certainly hadn't gone through all this trouble just to be ignored _again_.

His feet thumped to the floor as he slid off the bed's edge, sending confetti and stuffing swirling anew. B stood before the detective in the chair, casting off all mimicry for a moment to tower at his full height instead.

L still refused to acknowledge him, staring dully at the floor. 

"Look at me," B snapped, leaning down to slam both hands on the arms of the chair, face mere inches from L's nose. He heard the sharp intake of breath, and yet infuriatingly, still was not granted the privilege of a level gaze. 

A lone feather fluttered down to rest almost comically on the crown of L's stubborn head, and B reached out to pluck it away.

Suddenly, L's hand shot out to capture his wrist, and B was met with the scalding eye contact he had been demanding. 

_Finally._

B squirmed as the cool fingers encircling his arm pinned it firmly to the armrest, L's eyes ravaging his own. 

"Don't you dare touch me, B." L used his other arm to force the boy to back peddle away from the chair.

B sunk to his knees instead, effectively trapping L in his seat. He tugged once, testing at the iron grip on his wrist, but L wouldn't give. He immediately surrendered and smiled sweetly up at L.

"But sir, I'm just so happy to see you again," he cooed, trailing those daring fingers up the chair with his free hand and provoking the detective to capture his other wrist as well. The hold was painful, and B loved every minute of it.

L gazed down and tucked his feet even further up on the seat, as though B was some sort of vermin. It was dreadfully amusing.

"Touch me again B, and I can't promise I won't turn violent."

B chuckled. "Was that a threat, sir? How vulgar. I'd expect that from Mello, maybe, but you?"

L shoved him backward by the hold on his wrists, and B landed several feet away with a thump, his laughter growing louder still. 

"You've developed quite the temper in your absence, L," he remarked, picking himself up and dropping all mocking formalities simultaneously.

If looks could kill. 

"I'm not playing any of B's games tonight. Your point has been made. Now please show yourself out."

"Oh, is that so? And just what is my point, exactly?" B dared to inch toward the chair again, and L's eyes flashed a warning.

"Obviously you are feeling rather starved for attention, and it has driven you to acts of useless aggression."

"Well," B drawled. "They don't call you the best detective in the world for nothing, I suppose."

L curled his toes on the cushion and gave the room another once-over. "Foolish to express your displeasure with me by vandalizing the establishment that took you so charitably under its wing. I've never met a more spoiled brat in my life."

All good humour slipped from B's expression instantly at that. "Oh, don't you tell me about 'spoiled brat,' Mr. 'Rides-in-a-limo-everywhere-he-goes, waited-on-hand-and-foot, best-room-in-the-house'."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't refer to this as 'the best room in the house' anymore, thanks to you. Please go now. I'm confident Roger wouldn't be pleased to hear of your nocturnal activities, and he's a simple phone call away." 

B rolled his eyes. "There you go with your empty threats again, L. How disappointing. If you really wanted to turn me in tonight, you'd have told Watari back there already."

"Perhaps so." L trailed a finger along the embroidery of his chair. "Perhaps I just wanted to hear the full story before I made my decision. It doesn't change the fact that this tantrum of yours could mean your expulsion from Wammy's. You would do well to be on your best behaviour until the consequences are spelled out in stone."

B's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his knees. "Expulsion, you say? That seems unlikely. I'm the top candidate at Wammy's by far these days. A bit the dust, and Near's eating my dust."

L unfolded and stood from his chair then, looking tall and stern. "Speaking flippantly about the death of another student doesn't suit you, B. That was no laughing matter. Also, to assume that just because you have the highest grades you are indispensable to this establishment is pure arrogance. Your reckless behaviour here proves it will be a cold day in hell before you will ever be chosen to succeed me as L, no matter what the test scores may say."

B was silent for a long moment, staring at the floor. L pressed the pad of his thumb to his bottom lip and seemed to be waiting for the angry outburst he knew would follow.

However, when B lifted his head he merely smiled and shrugged. 

"Hmm. I find it really rich when you preach to me about morality and arrogance, L. I mean, with some of the things _you've_ done? We've all been hearing about some of your, shall we say,  _less_ _conventional_  methods of getting results for years now." 

B shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Where were you at A's funeral, if you cared so damn much? Huh? And this whole successor program, it's kind of a stupid system, then, isn't it? I mean, what's the point in making us compete with grades, if you can just turn around and pick any old dunce you want to succeed you in the end?" He sneered and crushed the feather he'd snatched from L's hair between a finger and thumb.

L slipped his hands into his pockets, scratched one foot with the other, and then replied in an almost bored tone: "If you've finished your little speech, I'd like to remind you that conventionality and transparency have no place whatsoever in L's role, and that is the very reason I get the results that I do. It is the reason I am the single-most successful force of criminal justice this world has ever seen. The true nature of my actions, motivations, or feelings will never be made privy to you, no matter how much you may whine or how well you think you may know me by the cases that you study here. Your insults are groundless because you do not see the full picture, and you never will. To assume that you understand at all what it is to be L is, once again, a sign of that arrogance you so hate having pointed out to you." 

B stared hard at the floor and made no reply.

"Must I really remind you that all of this is not just a game, B," L pressed on. "There is more to this school than simply beating out the other candidates. It becomes real very soon. My title enacts decisions with world-altering consequences, and the choice of a successor shouldn't be made lightly. In the end, if your personality or motivations are deemed unfit for the role, then you will be passed over for a worthier candidate with lesser scores. This should be common sense."

He gestured with a nod at the pulverized room and said, "Breaking into investigative headquarters and trying to destroy any sort of case evidence, for example. I admit it does show a sick sort of gumption and creative streak. But it's also a sure sign that a candidate would not have the best emotional maturity or priorities while on the job.  And that's just the way it is. Now please, show yourself out, or you will be escorted by Watari and a pair of handcuffs."

L was now gazing longingly at the door, and it suddenly dawned on B that he was probably fantasizing about the tray of tea and cookies out there, even while lecturing him.

And no, that wouldn't do at all.

\--

The detective must not have even realized B had moved until he found him clinging to his front in an outrageously intimate embrace. He jumped in shock and moved to shove him away, but B held him tight with both arms. He was pressing his nose to L's shirt and breathing in with obvious satisfaction.

"What on earth?" L snapped, clearly hating the vulnerable position he had allowed himself to assume. "B, release me this instant." He grabbed B's shoulders and attempted to delicately extract himself from the grip, but the young prodigy would not budge.

"Hmm... You know, I think that's the most you've ever said to me, L, and so much of it was insulting," B mused, shaking his head. He laid an ear against his idol's chest and began lightly fisting the loose fabric of L's shirt from behind. "The truth is, I never really wanted to succeed you in the first place. I've always imagined myself going on to do far _greater_ things than merely follow in your footsteps. My, but your heart is racing _awfully_ fast," he murmured gleefully as an afterthought.

L cleared his throat and latched his hands firmly onto the arms encircling him. "I'm warning you B, I have no problem with personally disciplining students who do not seem to know the meaning of 'boundaries'." 

L's grim tone meant business, but B snickered at that and drew himself up to look L right in the eye.

"Is that so?"

L stared just as boldly back. His fingers flexed on B's wrists, a little threat, and B knew L could break his bones right now if he wanted to. But B merely smiled in return, and then he dared to push it just a little further, leaned in as close as he could until their cheeks were grazing. He imagined that nobody normally touched L like that, and the thought made him feel wicked, bolder, made him press the man flat against the wall.

"You're going to punish me for this, L?" B murmured warm breath against warmer skin, nose trailing a little forbidden caress, and he couldn't  _believe_ the detective hadn't moved away yet, just standing frozen there letting him do it. Maybe L was more human than he admitted to even himself.

"For _this_?" B nuzzled his way along the line of L's jaw now, he could hardly help himself, mouth teasing, testing.  L made a funny noise in his throat, and it was only when B's wandering lips found the inner shell of his ear that he finally grabbed B's shoulders again and tried in earnest to push him away. 

" _You're_ going to punish _me_? " B was relentless, shoving right back. "Since when have you ever cared enough about your successors to take the role of disciplinarian, _L Lawliet_?" 

L's gasp told him everything. B's words had finally struck something deep and real inside the detective.

Clearly, L had no idea B could see his name hovering above his head at all times, along with the ever-changing chain of numbers. A gift of those unnatural pupils, it seemed. B had accepted it for the mystery it was long ago, but it sometimes proved so useful for scaring people senseless. And the detective, in all his secrecy, was especially susceptible to such a ploy.

Suddenly, L twisted away, his leg coming out of nowhere to sweep B's feet out from under him with astounding force.

B dropped with a grunt of surprise, his arms trailing down L's legs in desperation to maintain his grip, but L was faster still. B was flat on his front, pinned down by a knee to his lower back and strong fingers on the nape of his neck. He gasped and bucked with all his might, but L's other arm and leg soon joined in the capture, and he was rendered immobile.

"Since right _now,_ " L muttered in his ear against the floor.

Particles of glass ground into B's temple and cheek. He stared hard at the switchblade that had dropped from his pocket in the scuffle and now lay a few inches from his nose, wanting nothing more in that moment than to lodge it in the damn detective's throat.

L spotted the weapon at the same instant and borrowed back a foot for a second to kick it clear across the room and into the blazing fireplace. B lurched at the sight and let out a furious snarl, but L wasn't the least bit fazed.

"I'm afraid I humoured you far too long this time around, B. You're a terrible nuisance, but at least you made it very clear this evening just how unsuited for my role you really are. I suppose I have you to thank for making things that much easier for us _all_." L pressed B's face further into the mucky carpet for emphasis, and a muffled growl sounded from below.

"Bastard," B spat. "You let me go!"

"With pleasure." L dragged B to his feet by the collar and hauled him toward the door. He had nearly reached the exit when B regained his footing and lunged hard to the left, tearing free from the detective's hands with a snarl and the sound of ripping fabric. L nearly fell on his face during the struggle, landing with a sharp thud on his knees, holding a fistful of his own stolen shirt. His head snapped up just in time to see B throwing open the far window and climbing over the sill.

"B, don't you dare."

B heard the panic in L's voice, and knew that L was probably imagining the headache of having yet another orphan fatality on his hands. He paused in his escape for a moment to watch the man scrambling towards him. B knew he must really look the perfect picture of insanity there dangling out the window—hair thick with custard and bits of feathers, shirt torn and soiled, blood and sugar smeared on his hands and feet, eyes blazing. 

"Oh, that's sweet, but don't worry about me." B chuckled, lifting his other foot outside the building and lowering himself over the edge. "How do you think I got up in here in the first place?"

L froze as B's fingertips started plucking away from the sill, one by one.

B peered up over the ledge again, his entire weight held by the grip of two fingers. Then came the soft hiss of his voice. "A friendly word of advice: get stronger locks for the windows. Or better yet, bars. Goodbye, L Lawliet."

And with that, he let go.

 


	2. Bait

**October 29, 2003**

**-**

L was not pleased with the way the new iron bars on the windows obstructed his view of the school grounds below, as they gave him the unsettling feeling that he was now a prisoner in his own home. 

However, he supposed they were refreshing, in all their chilly hardness, for resting one’s face upon after a long day. He grazed his forehead against the metal now, peering with a listless fascination past the rainwater trickling down the pane. 

Far below, he could make out the blurred shapes of a group of hardy orphans. They were drenched, and deep in the throes of what looked to be a brawling tackle football game. L smiled faintly despite himself as the unmistakable figure of Mello made a spectacular flying leap and slammed another child face-first into the mud. 

Wammy’s House certainly had gathered quite the assortment of colourful characters over the years. Though none so darkly colourful, perhaps, as the one who made these iron reinforcements necessary in the first place.

L's sigh fogged the glass as he rubbed his bleary eyes, entirely reluctant to let his thoughts stray _there_ again. He slid a loose fist up one of the bars and turned his head to the side, savouring the chill now seeping against his burning cheek. 

The string of mostly sleepless nights was finally starting to take its toll on his unusually resilient health. He’d thought returning to Wammy’s would prove a relaxing change of pace, but so far nothing was further from the truth. 

L loathed that he couldn’t stop himself from picturing _his_ face. Picturing that smug, triumphant grin spreading across B’s features, when he’d found L had actually taken his advice about the windows.  
  
Expulsion had proven out of the question, if only because the school was the boy’s only home. B was blatantly unsuited for the role of L, it was now in unanimous agreement; but Quillsh Wammy refused to return a child to the streets once having taken them in. 

B had grinned even as he was forced to help clean up his mess and locked in his room by Roger for two whole weeks alone, which was the accepted alternative punishment for such heinous behaviour towards L. 

B had grinned, thinking he had defeated L in some important battle of the wits, no doubt. It was always some sort of damned competition with that boy. Which was fine, L supposed, _healthy_ even -- as long as he was merely contenting himself with defeating the other potential successors. But had that ever truly been B’s goal?

L backed away from the window after lingering another moment, and made directly for the dessert platter on the nearby dresser.  _Not a speck of cake left_ , he noted glumly. 

His eyes strayed to the laptop humming on his bedspread. Half a dozen files were open on the desktop, each one labeled after a different student's alias. 

All things considered, L was making decent headway on compiling profiles of the successors. B’s destructive ways had proven annoying, but also useful. With B officially disqualified L could now focus his attentions solely on the other serious contenders. He had already narrowed it down to a few of the most promising candidates, and he expected to most likely have that “choosing an heir” business wrapped up within another week or two of further observation.  

Even so, the waiting workload seemed strangely menacing at the moment, as though the laptop itself was silently mocking his lack of motivation. He snapped the thing shut, and slid it under the bed out of a long-standing habit. Then he left the room, taking care to double-check the newly installed locks behind him. 

Contemplating the fate of his legacy could wait for the moment. For now, L required strawberry cheesecake.

\--

The hallways were blessedly empty of children, and he was pleased to note he’d be spared their unsettling attention. He descended the winding staircase as noiselessly as possible, hoping the kitchen would be as empty as the rest of the west wing was now. 

The detective reached his destination and peered in the doorway, prepared to retreat at the first sign of life. He simply was not in the mood to deal with any curious stares or whispers on an empty stomach. 

Luckily, the only person currently occupying the kitchen was no threat. After all, Near was quite possibly the least confrontational child in the entire orphanage.

L relaxed and padded across the ceramic tiles, fairly confident he would make it to the fridge without any needless harassment.

Near’s eyes trailed after the detective as he passed, but he did not cease his activities for a moment, nor did he utter a word. He was hunched on the floor, back pressed into the corner made by a cupboard and wall. He had fenced himself in totally with an impressive block tower, complete with turrets and a working cardboard drawbridge. He'd also apparently been rummaging through a cupboard previously, as a large metal pot was perched jauntily on his head, acting as a most amusing substitute for a battle helmet. The boy was arming the fortress with tin soldiers, jabbing their minuscule bayonets out from the various portals. 

L regarded the odd boy mildly for a moment before turning to rummage about in the fridge, at last finding the cheesecake he'd been snacking on earlier. 

For a long while he perched at the counter and munched his dessert in silence, content with watching the young genius at work. He felt much better already now that he had cake, and Near’s presence also proved to be a pleasantly tranquilizing one. The mere fact that he had accepted L’s sudden appearance without question or remark was refreshing, and soon the detective found himself more at ease than he’d been in days.

“Truly an impressive fortress, but is there no space in your bedroom for that?” L mumbled suddenly around a mouthful. 

Near looked up immediately from under the metal brim of the oversized helmet, but did not reply right away.  
  
“There's more than enough space in my bedroom, but wooden blocks don't stack very well on thick carpet,” Near said eventually. “Also, I only need to build two of the four walls when I have a corner like this to reinforce my constructions.”  
  
L twitched his fork and nodded slowly, chewing. “Indeed. Both valid points.” 

Near continued to stare and made no further remark, curling a lock of hair around an index finger ponderously.

The empty silence that followed stretched on a beat too long, and L found it gradually turning awkward. In-person conversations with the top contenders were invaluable to his research, but the detective simply wasn’t very good at interacting with the children who were meant to replace him. He normally treated the successors more like a case to be solved from afar, and it suddenly felt somewhat unnatural to be conversing with one at his own initiation. 

L cleared his throat a little, and then once again busied himself with stuffing his face full of cake. Near resumed organizing his army simultaneously.

“I heard about what B did,” the boy piped up again after a moment, watching L from behind a turret. “Everybody's talking about it. They say that he broke into your room somehow that night. Made a bit of a mess.”

“That's putting it pretty mildly,'' L drawled, licking syrup off his fork. It didn't surprise him one bit that the students were whispering amongst themselves about this latest drama in the orphanage. B's lengthy confinement to his room was a drastic punishment by Wammy's standards, after all, and it was only natural they would be speculating about it. Especially after bars were put on all the windows.

Near was now placing plastic alligators in the moat around his castle. “They say B was probably permanently banned from being considered for your title, too.”

“It seems like _they_ say a lot of things,” L said vaguely. The administration hadn't actually told B he was officially disqualified from the running yet, nor had they made B's disqualification public knowledge to the students. Watari had felt it best to spare the boy's dignity amongst his peers in that regard. It would be left up to B to tell the others, if he so desired. Once his punishment was over they would break the news to him.

“They say that you got in a real fight with him because he destroyed all of your case files,” Near continued, as blandly as if he were discussing the weather.

“Well, that would be a hypothetically very rude thing for B to do, wouldn't it. I could hardly be blamed in that case.” L scooped the last crumbs from the plate into his mouth.  
  
“But is it true?”  
  
“Is what true?”  
  
“Did he destroy your case files?”  
  
L cocked his head to the side, curious to see where the boy would go with this. “What do _you_ think, Near?”

Near mulled it over for a moment. “I think it's true that he destroyed whatever he found in there. But I don't think everything is as it seems at first glance.”

Now _this_ was interesting. This would prove useful to his profiling of Near. L pulled his knees up to perch on the stool and hunkered forward to listen. “Please explain how you think things actually are, then.”

Near placed the final alligator in the moat. “Well, I don't think you're actually here to solve nearby cases, like they say.”  
  
L kept his face and tone impassive. “I see. And why do you think I'm actually here, then?”

“I think that you're here to observe _us._ ” Near was now clipping the jaws of one alligator to the feet of an unfortunate soldier who'd fallen in the moat. “It's only natural that you'd want to get a first-hand look at your heirs at some point. I'm sure Roger's occasional email updates are a poor substitute for actually taking a look around here on your own. And it would seem especially urgent after A's suicide last month. I'm sure some of the administration suggested taking a more hands-on approach, thought it could help prevent other successors from falling through the cracks like that.”

L was impressed, but he did not say so. “You believe that to be true, and yet you also still believe B destroyed my case files?” he said instead. “That doesn't make much sense.”

“No, it doesn't," Near agreed. "But I don't think those case files were genuine. I think they were planted, staged. I think you put them there as a cover for your real purpose at Wammy's. I've looked into most of the current investigations going on in surrounding areas, and none of them seem high-profile enough to fit with the crimes that would normally interest _you_.” 

“Ah,” L murmured around his thumb. He could see what all the teachers meant when they talked about Near's cool, logical brain. 

There were several tin soldiers being eaten by alligators now. "Nothing would ruin getting an honest look at your successors faster than us knowing we're being scrutinized, so you made sure we got the impression you were just here to do your regular detective work, instead."

“And why do you think I would go through all this trouble then, to stage my room as a false investigative headquarters?”

"Well, I think you must know that the students here are starving for any scrap of information about the real L that they can get,” Near said, crushing a couple of alligators under the drawbridge. “So maybe you suspected some students might be bold enough to try to infiltrate your space, and you needed your cover story to look plausible from the inside out."  
  
L had the distinct impression the boy had been rehearsing this in his head all week long.   
  
"Maybe even _that_ would act as a bit of a test for them, if a student did actually manage to successfully break in. You could see whether or not their observational skills are keen enough to spot the artifice when they see it. Maybe you even made the locks on your room weak on purpose. It seems more in-line with your usual methods than a straight forward set of interviews or written tests for us would.”

L wriggled his toes on his stool and couldn't help but give a little smile at that. There was good reason this boy was now top of the heap despite being one of the youngest orphans here, it seemed. Because Near had gotten everything right, absolutely everything, and he probably hadn't even left his bedroom to do it.

\--

It was true that L's headquarters at Wammy's was a ruse. The trick to staging L's room had been to make it look authentic to the untrained eye, but not actually accurate to his usual work space or methods. Watari had done a fantastic job with that at L's request, using legitimate current investigations from the surrounding areas to create the case files, and real textbooks and notes from L's earlier days as a student.

B had been genuinely fooled, it seemed. Top scoring student at Wammy's, not to mention the resident expert on all things L, and even he didn't question the authenticity of the set-up while he went snooping around so arrogantly the other night.

The truth was, L had also half-hoped B in particular would take the bait and coming looking for him. He'd been catching glimpses of and hearing rumours of the darker side of Wammy's eldest orphan -- B's bold aggression, antisocial personality, and unhealthy fixation on the detective, right down to mimicking his mannerisms and appearance -- for quite some time now. The fact that despite all this B was still considered top contender for the title after A's death was very worrisome, indeed.

L wanted to confirm a few hunches he had about B's less desirable characteristics for himself. He also wanted to make it exceedingly obvious to everyone else that the boy was not fit for assuming his role. Better to have the support of everyone in charge as well if he chose to bypass B as a potential successor.

And so, knowing all he knew about B, it hadn't been much of a stretch to assume that if he deliberately kept his own public appearances in the orphanage to a minimum, B would most likely attempt to take matters into his own hands one way or another. L supposed he at least had to give the prodigy credit for that, at any rate. L valued that kind of tenacity, and it was more than he could say for any of the other orphans, who all kept an intimidated, respectful distance from him.

But all the same, B's unquestioning acceptance of the false headquarters was an unforgivable slip-up, far more damning than any temper tantrum he threw when trying to destroy it all afterwards. It was disappointing coming from a candidate who scored so incredibly highly on all the aptitude tests and examinations over the years. And it was now abundantly clear to all that B let his emotions cloud his sharp judgment far too much concerning all things L.

Yes, it had all gone pretty much according to plan, and L only had to relocate to another room for a little over a week while Watari got everything in his ransacked room back to normal again. 

The biggest surprise of the whole ordeal turned out to be that B broke into L's room from the rooftops. L initially assumed the prodigy might try to pick the door's locks, and had silent alerts in place for such an event, but he never anticipated him scaling the walls. There had been no mention of B's trick with the windows in the reports from Roger, and it seemed B had successfully kept that little skill a secret from everyone for quite some time now. It was a real flaw in the security system B had found, and so L had been legitimately caught off-guard by the boy's presence in his room that night.

Well, no. Now that L thought about it, the biggest surprise of the whole night wasn't the rooftops, but B's menacing affection toward him. The detective's ears burned again just thinking about it.

Or rather, the biggest surprise was B letting slip that he somehow --  _impossibly --_  knew L's real name. Nobody else on earth knew L's real name. There was no official record of it anywhere. And yet somehow, B knew it, and he wanted L to know that he knew it. It was incredibly unsettling to think about.

Yes, unfortunately the strange boy threw L off-guard far more easily than he liked to admit. And the detective hated being thrown off-guard more than anything. He had found it very difficult not to let his irritation show when B was gloating over him that night. L's temper got the better of him more than once during that confrontation, and he knew all too well that the slips of composure made B believe he'd come out on top in that whole freaky fiasco. B clearly considered himself the winner, even when he had completely failed to notice the falsehood of the entire situation.

It was so immensely annoying to think about. L knew it was childish, but sometimes it took all his self control not to trot right over to B's room and rub the true facts right in his smug little face--

“So am I right?”

Near's question snapped L out of his reverie and back to the present. He rubbed his feet together thoughtfully and opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden enormous crash from a distant room made him jump. 

 _N_ _ow what?_  
  
Near paused in his activities momentarily and perked his ears. “Sounds like the others are finished with their game of tackle football,” he stated calmly, answering the detective’s unspoken question. “Either that, or there is a small herd of hyperactive elephants on the loose in the building, and steadily approaching.”

L had to admit, that feeble attempt at humour was a pretty good description of the noise heading their way. It appeared as though the rigorous activity of moments before did little to tire out the group of boys. Loud footsteps were thumping up the stairs, and doors were slamming as they yelled to each other and spread out in all directions. Excited voices grew louder every passing moment, and Mello’s was the loudest by far. 

“Hah! I totally destroyed J out there. Did you see that, when I made him eat dirt, Matt?”  
  
“Yeah, I saw. He was on _our_ team, moron. Do you even know what the point of football is? No wonder we didn’t score any touchdowns, you were so busy throwing yourself at anything that _moved_ that...Ow! Get off me, jerk!”  
  
Another volley of loud exclamations and a resounding thump had L up on his feet. A hurricane of adolescents came barrelling through the door, a tangle of arms and legs and hollering threats. 

L jumped back and smacked into the counter, narrowly missing getting his teeth kicked out by a filthy combat boot. 

“Put me down Matt, I swear I’ll rip you a new one!” Mello raged. Matt had somehow managed to sling the smaller boy over his shoulder, likely just to keep his vicious limbs at bay. He could hardly keep his balance as he reeled around the kitchen, goggles askew, ricocheting Mello hard off any surface he could manage, leaving streaks of muck across the walls and counters. Mello was scrabbling furiously at Matt’s legs from above, trying to pull one out from under him.

L sunk to the floor against the counter in fear for his life, regretting his sweet tooth. He exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Near, who had been watching the commotion with little more than a mild interest. It appeared he was far more accustomed to these sort of things than the detective.

The tangle of Mello and Matt crashed to the floor precariously close to Near’s elaborate tower, shaking all the dishes in the cupboards with the impact. “You are so dead meat, Matt,” Mello snarled, pinning the other boy to the floor with all the ferocity of a jungle cat. His fist raised high to strike what looked to be a devastating blow, and he was just about to bring it crashing down when--  
  
“Now, now, boys. Let’s at least _try_ to appear civilized in the presence of our honoured guest, hmm?”

\--  
  
The entire company fell still, as four pairs of eyes turned in dreading unison to stare at the apparition in the doorway. 

B was leaning nonchalantly against the frame with his arms crossed, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly slid his eyes over each of them in turn. They lingered on the slumped detective for a moment longer than necessary, and L cursed himself for not sending Watari to get the damned cake instead.

_Had it really been two weeks already?_

“Ah, crap,” Mello growled, the first to regain his composure. "Not this guy."

B lit up with apparent delight at that. He cocked his head against the frame and flashed the boy a smile. “Lovely to see you again too, Mello. It’s been a while.”

Mello gaped a little and then frowned. “Well yeah, weren’t you like, put into _solitary confinement_ or something? Why the hell are you trying to scold us about manners, didn’t you practically blow up L’s room a couple of weeks ago or whatever?... Uh, hello by the way, sir,” He muttered after with a quick, blushing glance in L’s direction, seeming to have just now realized there were other people in the kitchen.

B’s chuckle set his shoulders shaking. “No, I most certainly did not blow up our honoured guest’s bedroom. I may have...” he rolled his eyes to the ceiling in mock thought, “ _rearranged_ it a little... made it a tad homier, but I can assure you there were no explosions of which to speak. The man himself can attest to that.” He nodded in L’s direction.  
  
Matt and Mello turned to look at L questioningly, and he drew his knees up to his chest.

“He essentially pulverized just about anything he could get his hands on, yes."

What L wouldn't give right now for a nice, normal serial killer case to occupy his time with instead...

“Aha!” Mello slammed his fist down on the floor dangerously close to Matt’s head. “See, you ‘essentially pulverized’ L’s bedroom, and they locked you up for it or something.”  
  
“Yeah, I heard you’re the reason we all had to get bars put on our windows, too,” Matt chimed in from where he lay, pushing at Mello and struggling to sit up. “Do you mind getting off me, man? You almost bashed my head in there.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot.”

B smiled sweetly again and lifted a foot to scratch his opposite leg. “Yes, that is very true. And don’t you feel so much safer at night because of it, now? Ideally, I think I should be handsomely rewarded for discovering such a flaw in our security system. But that’s neither here nor there.”

Mello snorted. “Whatever, B. You're the only one around here who’d even _think_ of trying to break into the windows, anyway.”

“I agree with B about the increased security being a positive change. According to Roger, our jam supply has increased substantially since the incorporation of barred windows.” 

Everyone turned in surprise to ogle the boy in the back corner. Near had been completely silent, and essentially forgotten about, until uttering that absurd statement.

“Oh man, you’re here too?” Mello wailed, noticing the boy behind the tower for the first time. He blinked and snickered. “What the hell do you have on your head?”

Near fiddled with a toy soldier and readjusted a block that had slipped slightly too far to the right. “Surely your observational skills are not so deplorable that you fail to recognize cooking ware when you see it, Mello.”

Mello bristled at that, but Matt jabbed him in the side with an elbow and muttered, “Ah, leave it, he’s harmless.” He then nodded his head at Near. “Hey, what does that mean, ‘our jam supply has increased’? Is that some kind of code or something?”

“It means exactly what it seems to mean, Matt. Roger told me once that Wammy’s House had been under the attack of a ruthless jam thief, who would strike the pantry most often after darkness fell. He was pleased to inform me that the orphanage’s supply hasn't been raided once since the window bars were added.”

At that, B erupted suddenly with a delighted chortle that seemed to shake his entire frame, and he had to clutch at the wall for support. 

L had all but forgotten himself in the sudden overwhelming presences of the various prodigies, but he snapped out of it at the sound of that detestable laugh, and made to stand to his feet. 

B ceased chuckling immediately and popped upright again, placing an arm firmly on either side of the door frame and gazing raptly at the detective. “Leaving so soon, sir?”  
  
L was not amused by the challenge, and he had long since lost the small amount of patience he possessed. “Get out of my way, B. I have no time for this, and there's much work to be done.”

B's expression suddenly took the form of a perfect mask of sorrow. “You can’t even spare a moment to be with the very people who care most about you in this world? How perfectly _sad_ your life must be.” 

L frowned and reached up to shove the brat’s limb away from its brace, but B was quicker still. He snatched L’s outstretched arm with both hands and pulled him harshly closer, until their noses were mere inches apart. 

_Not this again._

“We just want to be your friends, L,” B muttered, his fingernails digging menacingly into L’s skin. “Is that really so wrong?”

The other boys in the kitchen were absolutely appalled by the strange spectacle unfolding in front of them, and the two seated together on the floor exchanged horrified glances.

Mello’s face flushed a dull red. “B, what do you think you’re doing to L? Let him go, he’s got stuff to do." He gave Matt a little punch on the shoulder. “We don’t care if L hangs out with us or not, do we, Matt?”

“Nope, don’t care,” Matt mumbled dimly, too shocked to add anything coherent.

Mello rounded viciously and called over his shoulder, “What about you, weirdo, you got a problem with L leaving?”

Near stared blankly out from under the pot for a moment before responding, “No, my issue lies with the disrespectful behaviour of B.”

“See, B? You’re crazy. Now let go of L, or we’re all gonna pound you!”

“That won’t be necessary, Mello, thank you,” L admonished softly. B’s grip was working its way higher on his sleeve, fearless eyes refusing to relent to the detective’s dangerous glare.  
  
"Really? It’s just me, then?” B muttered so quietly, L could hardly be sure he’d heard it. The boy grazed his foot against L’s leg and was rewarded with a sharp inhale from his captive. 

L was sweating lightly, he could feel B breathing softly against his chin. They were much too close for comfort, and though he very much wanted to slug the little bastard hard in the face, he was at a complete loss of what to do with those other orphans watching. 

L stiffened as B lifted a hand to settle intimately against the back of his head, leaning in to whisper softly against his ear. “ _I just came to say goodbye for now, L Lawliet. And mark my words: you will belong to me someday.”_

L shivered as the hand gripping his hair suddenly clenched hard enough to make his scalp ache, and the boy’s nose ghosted down his cheek, and it took every ounce of his self-control just to refrain from throwing him to the ground and pounding him senseless for such a humiliating display--  
  
“God, B, what are you trying to do, _kiss_ him?” Mello lunged across the room in a fury and tackled B’s legs with all his might. 

B crumpled to the ground and took a good chunk of L’s hair with him. He was entirely submissive beneath Mello’s attacks, laughing madly as the incensed boy pounded his fists into B’s face again and again, the blood spilling from B’s split lips and nose, his young attacker roaring and raving. B laughed, and he choked, and he never once took his eyes off the detective standing frozen above. That haunting gaze, so entirely unhinged, seared L right to the very core.

After Mello was finally yanked back by Matt, B spat a mouthful of sticky blood onto L’s toes and then scrambled to his feet. He turned and fled out the door without a second’s hesitation, and nobody bothered to give chase, everyone too dumbfounded by the entire spectacle to react. 

That night, B disappeared from the orphanage completely. And though nobody dared voice their true thoughts out loud, it was the biggest collective sigh of relief in Wammy’s history.

\--

 

 


	3. Book

(two weeks earlier)

 _-_  
  
_**October 16, 2003-- Day One of Solitary Confinement**_

_I've decided to keep a journal for the next fourteen days spent in my room, this room which has now become my cell. I’m going to have a lot of time for thinking and not a single soul to share my thoughts with, after all._

_The authorities considered this to be sufficient punishment for the little house-warming ceremony I performed yesterday evening, and I complied happily without an ounce of resistance. I didn’t try to deny my actions in the least, and I hope the fact that I’m putting up no fuss just pisses off L a little more._

_It is dreadfully amusing to know that even after all of that, they still don’t have the guts to expel me. Old Man Wammy is softer than I'd ever imagined._

_The two weeks spent alone will be a small price to pay for the immense satisfaction it was to watch the construction crews swarming all the windows first thing this morning. It was such a pleasure to slide those bars between my fingers, and feel the hard physical evidence for myself._ _That undeniable proof that I’ve finally gotten under L’s skin. Made him sweat a little._

 _True enough, the bars also put an end to my favourite nightly pastime once and for all. But I’m really quite alright with that. I don’t plan on remaining at Wammy’s for much longer, anyway._ _After all, at eighteen years of age, I am now considered an adult by the world's standards, not just my own. I know I can take care of myself just fine, and I’ve recently come to the realization that this place holds nothing for me. I’m just wasting my precious time by continuing to act like I actually give a damn about succeeding L._

_Becoming L? Mere child’s play._

_I can’t help but sneer in disgust at the excitement such a goal seems to ignite in all the other foolish prodigies. It’s just about the most depressing lack of imagination I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness._ _After all, there’s no challenge in simply proving oneself adequate for carrying on another’s legacy._

_Creating a name all one’s own by surpassing or destroying the legendary L, however: now there is a worthwhile ambition._

_I will write more on this later. For now I’m going to catch up on some reading. What a convenient thing that this establishment provides each of its students with an up-to-date record of all the cases L has solved thus far. There are hundreds of them on the school's private database, thousands even. And I plan on catching up on them all, devouring each and every detail tonight._

_\--_

_**October 17, 2003—Day Two of Solitary Confinement** _

_3,353 cases. L has been working as a private detective for probably less than a decade, and he’s already solved that many single-handedly. Successfully captured and delivered thousands upon thousands of vicious criminals to a lifetime behind bars, or to cook in the electric chairs._

_Amazing, the power he wields simply by engaging that magnificent mind. His massive ego is infuriating, but I admit that even I can see why he holds himself in high regard._

_It was a fascinating read. I could hardly ask for a more helpful window into the man’s headspace, which I suppose after all is the intended purpose of the database. I’m not so sure it was the wisest move on the part of my educators to provide me with such an intimate understanding of the way my dear detective’s mind works, considering the slightly different ambitions I currently hold regarding his title._

_Well, their ignorance will serve them right soon enough. The wheels in my head are already churning away. I must remember to thank them all for the leg-up later._

_\--_

_**October 18, 2003—Day Three of Solitary Confinement** _

_I spent the majority of today carefully repairing L’s stolen shirt.  It was not at all a pleasant task. I had to resort to washing it in the tub of my little bathroom, and the water had to be frigid so the stains wouldn’t set in any further._ _But as I knelt there in the icy bath, plunging the shirt to the bottom of the tub and wringing it tightly, I found ways to make it fun. Certain thoughts kept me smiling, even as my skin was turning blue from the cold._

 _I_ _smiled widest when my fingers found the tear in the cloth where L’s fists made their mark that night. My thoughts flashed back to that moment when L attacked me. To the perfectly horrified expression on his face, when he’d believed that I was simply going to jump from the sill to my death, instead of maneuvering myself down from ledge to ledge as I have so often practised before._

_It is thoughts like these which have kept me in good spirits while patiently waiting out my sentence._

_It took a lot of elbow grease and painstaking skill with a needle, but in the end I was able to patch it up quite nicely. It looks almost as good as new._ _Sadly however, it no longer smells like him._

_\--_

_**October 19, 2003—Day Four of Solitary Confinement** _

_I witnessed one of the most repulsive things today, looking down from my window. I had been drawn by curiosity at the faint sounds of outdoor voices._

_Down below, Mr. Wammy himself was puttering about in the flower beds, young children surrounding him._ _This was nothing unusual. He’s always been very popular with the younger ones due to his kind, grandfatherly ways. I know they find it a great treat to be able to visit him again, seeing as he’s usually so attached to L’s hip these days while playing the doting butler._

 _Mr. Wammy had looked as though he was having a grand old time down there, indeed. I watched him pick a daisy from the gardens, and then tuck it behind the ear of one of the smallest girls. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug._ _By that point, the sugary little scene made the bile rise in my throat, and so I’d pushed away from the window to pace the floor in a restless circle. And even now, I’m still quite riled up._

_Oh, it makes me mad, it really does.Those stupid, stupid children. Why do none of them realize the cruel nature of the environment that old man has created for us all?_

_Oh sure, Quillsh Wammy looks to have the best of intentions. At first glance, gathering the orphaned geniuses of the world under his establishment’s roof seems a perfectly charitable thing to do.  But I know better than to believe that._

_It is, in fact, the furthest thing from an act of charity, as we are hand-chosen by the man and his staff based entirely on I.Q. scores and the like. It is a perfectly horrible thing to do, because the immediate pressure we prodigies are put under to succeed is enormous._ _We are not gathered together under this roof simply to be given a loving upbringing._ _No, we are all being honed as little future back-ups for Mr. Wammy’s precious L._

_Everyone knows L was the first orphan under Mr. Wammy’s care to become so wildly successful, and shaping the brilliant young thing into the world’s best detective was his greatest in a lifetime of astounding achievements. The entire purpose of this home for gifted children shifted after L came along, or so the story goes. And now it’s certainly not the healthiest environment for any child, gifted or not._

_For example, the oh-so-tragic tale of A. Top of the class for so long, obviously destined to assume the throne. He couldn’t stand the enormous pressure, finally went and offed himself. Granted, he proved a revoltingly weak spirit in the end, but that’s beside the point._

_Because clearly the toxic nature of this place couldn't have been more obvious than a slap to the face at that point. And still the dirt had hardly fallen to cover A’s coffin before that despicable old man and his spoiled pet prodigy went trudging on with this establishment again, full speed ahead._ _When I stop to really think about it, it makes me rather sick._

_I can't believe L had the nerve to call me callous for making light of it. He knows nothing of what his back-ups endure, not a single damn thing._

_None of the other children here ever view things the way I do, of course. Only A and I have ever dared to see this place for the nightmare it truly is, and look how well that turned out for him._

_But the others here are perfectly delighted to have been given such a luxurious place to stay, flattered to be specially selected for a chance at such an honoured role.They are still so young, so optimistically wrapped up in the quest to become the next L that they never seem to stop and think about what will happen to the vast majority of students who will fail to be chosen in the end._ _It will be a brutal reality check for the rest when the only dream they’ve ever had is heartlessly snatched away. Despite their best efforts, they’ll stumble reeling back into the real world, left with nothing but a raging inferiority complex and not a clue how to get by._

 _No, I most certainly am not grateful to this establishment in the least. Except perhaps for giving me a rather different kind of goal to strive towards._   _And, not so coincidentally, for introducing me to a certain somebody._

_\--_

_**October 20, 2003—Day Five of Solitary Confinement** _

_The more I think about it the more I am convinced the institution itself is mostly to blame for my intense fixation on L. They’re always placing him on such a pedestal in front of us, like he’s some sort of infallible deity._

_Obviously they mean to encourage us to strive for the title. But here, I find myself becoming thoroughly obsessed with the man, instead._

_Oh, it will be so very sweet when I finally succeed in bringing down the man. Watching this entire rotten establishment crumble simultaneously will just be the icing on the cake._

_\--_

_**October 21, 2003—Day Six of Solitary Confinement** _

_The food that Roger shoves through my door three times a day is of the poorest quality ever to be seen at Wammy’s House. I refuse to eat it, and there is now a putrid smell coming from that half of the room, as Roger in turn refuses to remove the untouched plates of spoiling crud._

_I never knew the stash of jam I’d been collecting thanks to my nightly expeditions would prove so beneficial. I sit in my closet whenever the hunger pangs strike and eat the stuff straight out of the jar with my fingers._

_\--_

_**October 22, 2003—Day Seven of Solitary Confinement** _

_One week down, and one to go._

_I befriended a spider today. I found her crawling along my window, spinning a web that spanned the entire top half. It is almost as though she wants to cheekily remind me that I can no longer use this window for my evening escapades. I plucked up a fly that was inching along the sill, and flicked it to land in the web._

_It was fascinating to watch the tiny arachnid lunge and sink her fangs into the prey’s flesh. Soon the spider had wrapped the twitching meal into a ball and tucked it into the corner for later._

_I’ve taken to speaking to her now and then, as I'm gradually spending more and more time staring across the grounds. I find her next victims for her, and she listens to me dream about mine._ _It’s a lovely friendship, really._

_\--_

_**October 23, 2003—Day Eight of Solitary Confinement** _

_The spider pointed out to me today that it’s rather easy to peer into the windows of the other rooms across the courtyard. I can’t believe I hadn’t really noticed before._

_It’s just a shame so many of the students seem to be making good use of their curtains._

_\--_

_**October 24, 2003—Day Nine of Solitary Confinement** _

_This is all too good to be true. It’s so wonderful that I have the spider here to bring such things to my attention, as I may have never been aware otherwise._

_It appears as though L has relocated to a new room. A new headquarters which coincidentally is quite easy for me to gaze inside when the world has gone dark. When the only light comes from the other windows across the way._

_I_ _hardly caught a glimpse of him all evening -- nothing really more than the unmistakable outline of his profile silhouetted against the drawn curtain, as he paced by the window once or twice. Hair wild as usual, thumb pressed to his mouth. Working so late as always, never seeming to sleep._ _It wasn’t much at all, but still enough to keep me glued to the bars with bloodshot eyes until nearly the crack of dawn. It was unsettling to realize just how hard my heart started pumping at the startling discovery. To notice my palms grow slick with sweat and lose their grip on the bars._

_I’m not quite sure exactly when my mind became so incredibly one-tracked, but I’m afraid it’s only going to worsen with time._

_\--_

_**October 25, 2003—Day Ten of Solitary Confinement** _

_I don’t need the makeup to recreate his look anymore. I chanced a look in the mirror today and there are dark shadows under my hollow eyes the detective would be jealous to behold._

_I wonder if he will come here to see me before my sentence is up. Surely he must be at least a little curious about how I know his true name. I've never told anyone here about the trick I can do with my eyes._

_But I think I might tell him, if he asked._

_\--_

_**October 26, 2003—Day Eleven of Solitary Confinement** _

_I’m going to create a case for L to solve someday. Something so elaborate he’ll be sweating bullets just trying to keep up with my twists and turns._

_I would be the perfect candidate for designing the greatest mystery of his career, after all. Nobody’s done more research on the man’s strengths and weaknesses than I. No one else could ensure that the case would be tailored exactly to suit his faults._ _It’s not going to be easy. I will have to work tirelessly, making it grand enough to capture his attention._

 _Ahh, to get L’s attention. If only he ever gave it to me willingly. Things wouldn’t have to be this way. But I’m certainly not going to wait around any longer. So I’ll take matters into my own hands._ _And I suppose I’ll wind up having fun, just the same._

_\--_

_**October 27, 2003—Day Twelve of Solitary Confinement** _

_A notebook fell from the sky today._

_It landed in the tall grass next to the gazebo. I could hardly believe my eyes, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have noticed it if it wasn’t for my new hobby of attaching myself to the window for practically the entire day and night. There was nobody around at the time, and certainly no passing aircraft that I could see which could have possibly dropped it._

_I'm_   _going to have to make a point to go down and retrieve it as soon as this dreadful punishment finally comes to an end. It’s really driving me insane, wondering what it is and where exactly it came from._

 _Though it is not quite so maddening as the long wait until evening falls, when the interior of L’s room will be illuminated and I’ll be able to catch a glimpse of him again. Last night I watched his silhouette pace madly for nearly half an hour, apparently lost in a distressing train of thought._ _I wish I knew what's making him so damned restless._

_\--_

_**October 28, 2003—Day Thirteen of Solitary Confinement** _

_The spider died today. I found her curled up sadly on the windowsill where I caught her first fly. I don’t blame her for leaving; the stench from the plates of abandoned meals is growing pretty overwhelming._ _It’s probably just the prolonged solitude talking, but upon that discovery I couldn’t ever remember feeling more lonely, to be perfectly honest._

_L still hasn’t lifted the curtain._

_The notebook hasn’t been discovered yet, either. It’s very well hidden in that tall grass._

_\--_

_**October 29, 2003—Day Fourteen of Solitary Confinement** _

_Finally, at very long last, my sentence has come to an end. Roger will be along to unlock the door any moment now, and I will be free once again to do as I please._

_First, I am going to destroy this journal so that it may never again see the light of day._

_Second, I will march straight outside to the tall grass and finally get my hands on that curious notebook from the heavens._

_Third, I am going to find L and let him know exactly how things are going to turn out for us in the end.  Then I am going to leave this hellish place for good._

_And finally, I am going to hatch the perfect plot. The perfect plot for utterly destroying L Lawliet._

_\--_

 


	4. Blood

**October 31, 2003**

**-**

“It’s just a little thunderstorm, Mel. No need to piss your pants over it.”

“Shut up, I’m not.” 

Matt paused his game for a moment to glance over his shoulder. “Well, you sure could've fooled me with the way you’re fingering those prayer beads.” 

 Mello shoved the worn rosary back in his pocket. “Whatever. I'm just thinking, that's all.” He forced himself not to look at the lightning rippling through the black clouds outside.

_What a night._

He had never liked storms. Never. They were one of the only things that really gave him the willies, and he hated that his anxiety was so obvious. 

He hopped up to join Matt on the bed, elbowing him aside to get to the dresser. “Shove over, would you? I gotta get my costume ready.” Matt rolled over in distracted compliance, and Mello rummaged around in the bureau until he found both of his festive accessories, then made his way to the mirror.

Mello pinned the headpiece on and smoothed his hair back into place. He then clipped the tail onto his rear belt loop as well and inspected his reflection, turning to the side to check it from all angles.

_Hmm. Not bad. But still something missing._

He dug into the pocket of his pants and plucked out a stick of black eyeliner.

 _Yeah, this ought to do it._  
  
“Shit!” Matt tossed his handheld to bounce off the bed. “Died again. I wasso close to levelling up this time.” He rubbed his face in exasperation and then whipped a cigarette out of his vest pocket. He lit it and took a drag, afterwards turning to face the other boy.

Matt's eyes widened in disbelief. “Mel, what kind of costume is that?”

“What, you've never seen a fox before? Now put that cigarette out before I make you eat it. You know you can't smoke in here.”

Matt choked with laughter around the lungful of smoke, clutching his side in an attempt to catch his breath. “Why the hell... did you pick...  _that_ costume?”

“Because it was the easiest costume there was, alright?" Mello frowned, yanking the eyeliner's cap off. "I only trick-or-treat for the free candy, I’m not going to waste my time on some elaborate get-up.”

"Alright, if you say so." Matt shook his head, exhaling a lazy spiral of smoke up to the ceiling. “Hey, where did you go just a minute ago, anyway?” 

Mello twirled the makeup pencil, inspecting it for any signs of unsanitary conditions. “If you’d been  _listening_ , I went to B’s room to get something.” He had actually gone to steal the makeup for his outfit -- everyone knew B was a big hoarder of the stuff -- but his wounded pride wouldn’t let him admitthat now. Not after just giving that little speech about making his costume the easiest possible.

“Wait, what? B’s room? You serious?" Matt shook his head. "Man, that guy was such a nutcase. Can't say I'm sorry he's out of the running. So was it creepy in there, or what?”

Mello swiped the tip of the eyeliner a few times against his pants for good measure. “Like you wouldn’t even believe, man. I guess it was in a pretty disgusting state once they finally let him out, and they haven't touched it since by the look of things. They're probably too busy looking for him. There was all sorts of rotten stuff everywhere. He had a closet full of empty jam jars too, can you believe it? I guess that’s what Near was rambling about the other day. Totally weird.”

Matt shook his head. “Dude, that’s nasty. I can’t believe you actually broke into his bedroom, though.”

“Hey, I’m not the only one by a long shot. Now that he’s been gone a couple of days, a bunch of the other kids have been sneaking in to find all the shit he stole from them over the years. It looks like B’s to blame for pretty much every missing object in the school. He had piles of pilfered junk in there. You know, I think I even saw your old electric toothbrush on his sink.”

"Uh..."

“But I didn’t end up going in very far. God, his living space was bad enough, I can’t even imagine what the _bathroom_  must look like. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were, like, hacked-up body parts in the tub or something.”

Matt scoffed and flicked some ashes to the floor. “Yeah, or some sort of weird black magic shrine built in L’s honour, with candles and hair clippings and sacrificial blood and stuff, right?”

Mello slid the eyeliner in three long stripes across his left cheek, snickering. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least. He was so completely obsessed. It even gives  _me_ the creeps, I can’t imagine how L feels about it. God, remember what B was doing to him in the kitchen?”

Matt groaned. “Ugh, don't remind me. No wonder L doesn't like spending any time here. And B had the nerve to try to drag us into it, too. I don’t see why L didn’t just pop him one right in the face then and there.”

Mello finished drawing the whiskers and flashed Matt a pompous grin. “Well, I guess it was a good thing I was there to put that loser in his place.”

Matt ground the cigarette out on the toe of his boot, tucking the rest away in the package again. “Yeah, you did mess him up pretty good, I have to admit. Although you might have gone a bit overboard, don’t you think? B was bleeding all over the place.”

Mello sneered. “Serves him right. Nobody should treat L like that and get away with it. I hope he stays gone. But even if he comes back, I doubt he’ll ever try anything like that again now that I've had my fun with him.”

“Well... maybe not. but it kind of looked like he wasn’t really  _trying_  to fight back at all, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you suggest that B might have actually won if he'd tried. So how do I look?”

“Like a goddamn girl. ...Heck, I was just kidding. Ow! I was joking. Okay you look  _fine_ , now let go.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. C'mon, we don’t have all night, and there’s a ton of candy waiting out there with our names on it.”

“In this weather? No thanks. I’ll stay here, you have fun.”

“Okay, whatever. But if you aren’t coming for the trick-or-treating, then I’m definitely not gonna help you prank the teachers.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll come. You’re such a baby sometimes, Mel. You know I don’t even have a costume.”

“So what? Just put on your goggles and we’ll pass you off as a lame-ass fighter pilot or something.”

Eventually, Mello was able to drag his reluctant companion into the hallway by the collar, an umbrella and pillow case tucked under one arm. Matt trailed along behind, the carton of eggs he had been stashing under Mello’s bed now hidden neatly inside his vest.

\--

The halls had been lavishly decorated by Linda and some of the other more artistic students in traditional honour of the holiday. The high ceilings were strung with orange and black streamers, and jack-o-lanterns glowed wickedly from all of the tabletops. Cotton cobwebs tangled their way down the banisters of the grand spiral staircase, and large crepe spiders and bats dangled from every chandelier. The weather was certainly doing its part to add to the eerie atmosphere as well, as a loud crackle of thunder set the lights flickering and children squealing with nervous excitement all around the building.

Mello swallowed hard and took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain composed in front of the others. He cleared a path through the costumed students by swinging his umbrella in front of him, rudely smacking the children who failed to avoid it fast enough. He chattered loudly to his companion the entire time. 

“So Matt, here’s--  _Clear outta the way, runts!..._  So here’s the plan. We’re gonna head straight for that rich neighbourhood down by the--  _Move it, pipsqueak..._  That rich neighbourhood by the park. They always give out— _Shove it, comin’ through.._ the best chocolate by far...”

“Whatever man, I don’t care. Let’s just get this over with.”

The two boys paused for a moment in the entranceway while Mello struggled to open the umbrella. Matt tugged his collar high over his ears in anticipation of the nasty weather. “Damn your stupid chocolate addiction,” he muttered at Mello with no real malice, jostling the carton inside his vest and eyeing the decorations, looking bored. 

It was then that he caught something moving far down the hall from the corner of his eye. He yanked his goggles up again to get a better look, grinning mischievously.

Mello was completely oblivious, at long last getting the stubborn umbrella open. “Okay, let’s go. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover.”

Matt grabbed Mello’s wrist and yanked him back. “Wait. Think I just spotted the jackpot target of the evening."

Mello was not amused by the distraction. “Oh, did you now? Well unless you’re referring to Near I don’t give a shit. We’re going trick-or-treating first, egging second. Like we agreed.”

“No, not Near, but the next best thing. It was Roger man, I’m sure of it. He was taking something down to the cellar! Let’s get him. C’mon, you know you want to.”

“Oh no you don’t. I didn’t get dressed up like this to chase some lame old teacher around the school all night.”

“But this is the perfect opportunity. It’ll be totally dark down there, he’ll never know who did it! And we’ve always wanted to see the cellar, right? Let's just sneak down and toss a couple at him. Then we can run like hell and go trick-or-treating.”  
  
“No way.”  
  
“Come on. I’ll give you allmy chocolate at the end, I swear.”

Mello paused at that and narrowed his eyes. Matt rarely got riled up enough to be adamant about anything other than his video games, and Mello had the sneaking suspicion this was more a stalling tactic than anything.

However, he reasoned, the promise of more chocolate was never one to be taken lightly.

“Fine. You’ve got five minutes, then we’re out that front door.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They padded stealthily down the hallway, the lights above flickering as another cymbal crash from the skies echoed throughout the orphanage. Mello grit his teeth, allowing his friend to lead the way this time.  

Matt stopped in front of a narrow door marked  _Authorized Access Only._ “Roger went down here, I’m sure of it,” he muttered, glancing around quickly a couple of times before testing the doorknob for himself. It rattled, but didn’t budge.

Mello slapped his arm away. “Quit it, man, he’ll hear that! Obviously he would’ve locked it behind himself. Game over, we can go now.“ 

Matt didn’t respond, instead reaching up to pluck something from Mello’s headpiece. 

“Ouch, what was that for?”

Matt brandished a bobby pin between them. “Would you look at that. There really are some advantages to having such a prissy kid for a best friend.” He ignored the punch to his shoulder as he jammed the pin into the keyhole, fiddling it up and down.

“I don’t get why you’re so bent on stalking the stuffy old headmaster, anyway. You really are just stalling, aren’t you?”

Matt shushed him and gave the makeshift pick one last wriggle, and then grinned as the lock tumbler gave in to his prying.

The door swung inward with a groan, musty cellar air billowing up to meet their nostrils. 

\--

Mello stood on tiptoes to peek over Matt’s shoulder into the stairwell. There was a lone, buzzing light bulb dangling from the ceiling farther below, and it did very little to dissipate the gloom of the cellar. The stairs were coated in dust, and there was a set of fresh footprints in the grime, confirming Matt’s story.

“See, I told you he went this way.”

“Yeah, yeah. Jeez, it’s kinda spooky down there. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Don’t be such a chicken, man. This’ll be fun, I swear.”

“I’m  _not_  a chicken.” Mello set his umbrella and pillowcase down on the top step and hesitated just a moment before finally closing the door behind them. They were immediately thrown into darkness, and Mello found himself groping blindly for his friend. 

 _Damn_. Whyhad he agreed to this again? His fingers found the back of Matt's vest, and he clutched tight to the armholes.

The amusement was evident in Matt’s whisper as he paused momentarily in his descent. “Hmm. Why, hello there. Not a chicken, huh?”

“I can’t see a thing,” Mello hissed back, squinting into the gloom. “So where do you think he went?”

Matt crouched to peer at the ground, dragging Mello down with him. “I can just make out the footprints here. I think he went this way, come on.” 

The pair crept along the wall, taking pains not to make any incriminating noises or bump into anything unseen. They paused every few feet to listen and look.

Matt halted after a moment and gestured to a faint strip of illumination from under a door across the way. “Can you make that out? He must’ve gone in there.”

Simultaneously, there was an enormous clap of thunder that vibrated the entire orphanage, and Mello tightened his hold on the vest, shivering. “Let's just get this over with."

“Calm down. Where’s your holiday spirit? This'll be great.”

They arrived at the door and pressed their backs up on either side of it, listening for any signs of life. It was deathly quiet. Matt tried the knob, and this door swung partway open without a sound. A weak beam of light flooded the cellar, and they were able to roughly make out the details of their surroundings for the first time.

The part of the basement they were sitting in looked to be the storage facility for the orphanage. There were broken pieces of furniture and tools piled haphazardly here and there, a few shelves packed with preserves, and a dozen or so barrels of what looked like vintage wine stacked in the corner. It was a wonder they hadn’t tripped over anything yet.

Matt pushed the door open the rest of the way, and then they looked over the interior of the other room.

This one looked a bit like an underground library. The floors and walls were made of cement, and there were several long aisles of filing cabinets and bookshelves that stretched lengthwise away from the boys. Mello couldn’t see their victim anywhere, but if he perked up his ears he thought he could hear the sound of rustling papers in the far corner of the room. The culprit was obscured from view by the rows of shelves.

“Wait, I'm confused,” Mello whispered. “Roger does his paperwork in the cellar?”

“Nah, I know where we are. This is where they keep all the old records on the students, right? I’ve heard about it. He’s probably digging up the dirt on some poor sucker right now.” 

Matt reached down the top of his vest and popped open the carton. He withdrew two white eggs, handing one to Mello. Mello bit his lip and took it reluctantly.

They crept toward the noises in the back corner, clutching the ammo to their chests. A fierce thunderclap resounded again, and the lights flickered ominously. Mello felt beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, and he made a mental note to give Matt a good smack for this idiotic idea as soon as they were safe and sound back upstairs.

They crawled noiselessly along, pausing to peer down every aisle as they passed. Each row was marked on the end with letters, going in backwards alphabetical order. They were crawling past the “G-H” aisle now, then the “E-F,” then the “C-D”...

The boys halted at the edge of the “A-B” row, the rustling directly behind the shelf. Matt flashed Mello a devilish smile and raised the egg high over his head. 

“Okay,” he whispered. “On the count of three, we throw them and run like hell. Ready?”

Mello made no response, but moved into a feral stance, waiting tensely for the signal.

“Okay... On three. Three... two...”

_BOOOOOM._

The loudest thunderclap yet resonated through the building, and at that precise moment all the lights in the cellar flared and then died completely. 

“Oh shit, oh  _shit_ ,” Mello panicked, dropping his egg to the floor, his fingers clawing at Matt’s back. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” 

Matt suddenly wasn’t feeling so brave anymore either, and he shoved Mello toward the exit.

They scrambled back the way they came blindly on all fours, feeling desperately along the wall for where the door should be. Matt had dropped his carton and was practically riding Mello’s shoulders in his haste to get out. He stepped hard on the other boy's fox tail and knocked him flat on his face.

“ _Oof_!”

“Shit man, get up. Find the door!”

“Get the hell  _off_ me, then!”

_WOOOSH._

They froze as a bright orange light filled the cellar from behind, accompanied by a loud rush, like a torch being set ablaze. The boys turned, eyes wide with dread, to witness a sight that seemed straight out of a nightmare.

Roger stood a few feet behind them, holding a thick flaming file in one hand and a dripping canister of gasoline in the other. He was dousing himself with it, flames licking rapidly up his outstretched arm and engulfing his elderly frame. His eyes were the most horrific of all, bulging out of the inferno with the utmost soulless insanity.

The boys let out twin hollers of terror, and Mello was on his feet in a flash, dragging Matt backwards by the vest. They fled through the pitch dark of the basement, smacking straight into a pile of junk with a deafening crash.

“S-screw it, Matt. Get up!”

“He.. He set himself on  _fire._ ”

“I know, I know, now get _up_. We have to get help!”

The glow from the other room was increasing, and Roger's horrible, unearthly moan and the sickening odour of smouldering flesh were permeating the air. Mello felt the bile lurching in his throat and his knees buckling. Matt pulled him tripping and stumbling up the stairs.

The boys burst out of the basement screaming for somebody, anybody, Roger was committing suicide in the cellar, he was burning to death, please somebody come quick! Mello collapsed on the floor and retched violently.

Teachers and students came rushing to investigate. Several adults heard Roger's screams and raced to the cellar.

One of the women kept the children from following the teachers, firmly blocking the door and barking out commands. “Get back to your rooms immediately, children. We need you to remain calm and stay out of harm’s way. I know the power’s out, but I promise you we will get everything under control!” 

Another teacher was bending to hold back Mello's hair as he heaved. She whipped around to face Matt, who was still sprawled on the floor where he’d fallen in a daze. “What’s going on down there, Matt? Is this some kind of sick prank?”

Matt stared back, eyes saucer-wide and fogged with shock. “It’s—It’s Roger, he’s in the student archives section. It sounds  _crazy_ , but he... he lit himself on fire,” he muttered, as though not believing his own words in the least.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, utterly aghast. “No, he didn’t! He.. he _what_?”

Mello pressed his forehead to the floor and drew a shuddering sob of breath. Panicked voices and muffled thumps were echoing distinctly up the stairwell now. 

Matt curled his knees up to his chest and stared dully at his feet, nodding, his voice hollow. “He was... he was dousing himself in gas and burning one of the folders, too. I... I think it was marked with a B.”

\--

 


	5. Birthday

**October 31, 2003**

**-**

Even well before all the terrible ruckus in the basement of Wammy’s House, L had already come to the conclusion that this particular birthday was without a doubt the most depressing one of the twenty-four he’d experienced thus far.

For one thing, the weather was dreadful, and the incessant growling of the storm outside his window automatically reduced his reasoning ability by 9 percent.

For another, he had to spend a major portion of his special day holed up in his room, scrutinizing six years' worth of successors' reports on grisly crime scene photos. A far cry from “Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” to say the least.

Thirdly, Watari had the gall to bring him a vile coconut-flavoured birthday cake, when he had specifically requested a Boston cream cake that year.

L hated coconut. Watari should know this.

And as if all of that wasn’t unsavoury enough, the old man was in an unusually talkative way, and just would not stop bringing up the very topic of conversation L would rather dive into a pool of rusty razor blades than discuss, even when in the best of moods.

The detective stabbed at the coconut cake with his fork, dissecting it into pieces and not bothering to taste a crumb. Watari was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, chattering away and seemingly totally oblivious to the fact that he was blatantly offending the birthday boy left and right.

“I just don’t understand it," Watari fretted, moustache blustering. "Clearly he is intent on breaking all ties with this institution, and if that is his wish, then so be it. He is at the age where he can make his own way in the world already, after all, and it has already been proven without a doubt that he will never make a suitable choice for your successor. So in a way, I suppose this decision of his makes things easier for everyone. But my only wish is that he would contact us somehow, just to provide a little peace of mind. Surely that wouldn’t be too much to ask? A phone call, a letter, anything would do. Then we could all move on without having this nagging uncertainty tainting our consciences.”

L smashed a chunk of dessert to the plate, picturing the elder’s face in the icing. “Watari, you must recall B was never one to hold others’ peace of mind in high regard.”

Watari’s eyes crinkled at that, and he nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose you’re correct there. Goodness knows I’m not personally very familiar with the boy myself, but he’s proven quite the nuisance in the mere few weeks we’ve taken up residence here, hasn’t he? And Roger certainly has a wealth of horror stories featuring the lad to share from past years.” He chuckled quite humourlessly, pausing to massage his temples.

L glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner, secretly deciding that he would give his mentor precisely three more minutes on this particular topic before tossing him straight out the doorway.

“The other students don’t seem very upset by his disappearance, however,” the old man continued, sinking into a chair and stroking his moustache. “Well, I suppose that’s not terribly surprising. He’s not been reported to be the most _sociable_ of creatures.”

L grumpily murdered another imaginary Watari with his fork and replied, “Not necessarily. B has always made a point of becoming _very_ sociable in my presence.”

“Well, granted. But, you and I both know full well that B seems to have developed a certain, err, special fondness for you above all others, hasn’t he?”

L’s slice of cake had been reduced to hardly more than a pancake by then. “I don’t claim to understand his reasons for acquiring such an absurd notion myself, Watari. I’ve never given the boy any cause to entertain the idea of us forming a friendship.”

“And surely it must have crossed your mind at some point in time, that ironically, your chronic refusal to spend any time with B may have only fuelled his keen interest in your affairs. The boy appears to love a challenge. Not unlike yourself there, I suppose."

L ceased his cake mashing to pour himself another cup of tea. “Please refrain from comparing me to B again in the future. Also, it is most certainly not my responsibility to befriend every prodigy this orphanage takes under its wing, Watari. My professional obligations are a much higher priority than any kind of social charities."

“Yes, that goes without saying," Watari replied. "Apologies, I didn’t mean to sound accusing. I’m just speculating on his possible reasons for needing to gain your acknowledgement, and to emulate your persona so... _thoroughly._ According to Roger, he has indeed been mimicking your mannerisms and looks for quite some time now, despite the fact you’ve rarely made any appearances in the flesh. Very strange indeed."

A bright flash outside the window painted everything white for a split second, and the resulting clap of thunder was followed by faint sounds of young students whooping throughout the building.

L curled his toes tight on the edge of his chair and stared dully into the depths of his teacup. “I have come to the conclusion that this successor evaluation is taking an unusually long time because of the distracting environment. These children have an uncanny knack for disrupting my solitude, and their distractions reduce my productivity by a minimum of 15 percent.”

Watari leaned back against his seat and folded his hands on his lap. “Well, why didn’t you say something earlier? We could have easily transferred to a hotel or whatever else at a moment’s notice.”

“I did not say anything earlier because I was attempting to prove a point to the delinquent who invaded my living space some weeks ago. I needed to make it clear to him that he was not so disruptive to my plans as to drive me out of my living quarters completely. The installation of metal bars was submission enough. If I'd left immediately after B’s latest rebellious act, he surely would have only seen it as proof that he had bested me. That would have only further encouraged him to act out inappropriately in the future.”

Watari raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea you were so adamant about proving yourself to that boy. Surely having a clear head when choosing your heir takes a higher priority than driving a personal point home to a rebellious student.”

“Watari, I don't need to remind you that I am a very competitive person. And when an arrogant brat like B decides to make a show of asserting his dominance over me in such a fashion, I most certainly will not just sit on my hands and let him walk all over me.” 

L paused after that, suddenly recalling that humiliating moment with B in the doorway of the kitchen. Well, he'd certainly failed at regaining the upper hand over the boy during that latest little interaction, hadn’t he? 

His strange inability to retaliate to B’s degrading treatment had been a great blow to his pride. Mello had to step in on his behalf, for god's sake. 

L was simply unable to deny the ugly truth. No matter how detached from the rest of humanity he had grown-- no matter how high the pedestal society placed him on-- the plain fact was, a bratty teenager was sometimes able to render him paralyzed and speechless with a few well-placed words and carnal touches. 

Maybe L really did spend too much time alone these days, as Watari sometimes suggested. He'd almost forgotten over the years what it was like being that close to another person, how primal and overwhelming it could be, a small caress short-circuiting all thought. 

As a rule, loneliness was not something the detective L ever allowed himself to feel. Needing others was a weakness, it got in the way, and human feelings like that had to be stamped out at all costs in favour of doing his job well. Inhumanly well. Therefore, those faltering moments with B were a very sore spot in L’s sizeable ego. Certainly not something he wished to dwell on any longer, or admit to anyone who hadn’t already witnessed the unfortunate events for themselves.

\--

“Goodness gracious. If you didn’t want that particular flavour of cake, you could’ve just told me; there’s no need to pulverize it so.”

That bemused comment brought L’s thoughts crashing back to the latest unpleasant situation at hand. “Actually, I _did_ tell you already, Watari. I specifically requested that you would bring me a Boston cream cake for my birthday this year. I suppose the probability that your mind was on other matters at the time is extremely high.”

“Oh, sincere apologies. I have in fact been very distracted lately by all the commotion. If you’d like me to run out and pick you up a new cake, then by all means--”

“Yes, I would like that very much, in fact. Please do so immediately.”

Lightning laced through the clouds again, the resounding crackle of thunder vibrating all the stacked dirty dishes which Watari now rose to collect. “Very well. I will return soon with the correct flavour of birthday cake.”

Watari was nearly out of the door when L’s voice suddenly broke the fallen silence, the detective blurting it out before he could stop himself. “He knows my full name, Watari.”

Watari halted immediately at that. Slowly, he turned on the spot to meet L’s unsettled countenance with his own. “B does?”  
  
L nodded and took another hasty sip of tea, wide eyes never leaving the other’s. “Correct. He’s made it quite clear by referring to me by my true name on more than one occasion.”

Watari lowered the tray and sighed. “Well now, there is a perplexing problem, indeed. I wonder how on earth he came across such classified knowledge?”

L grabbed a handful of sugar cubes. “I have no theories. I shudder to think B could possibly be a mind reader or anything of the sort.”

Watari cocked his head to the side in reflection. “I simply can’t imagine how he could possibly know it. Not even Roger or I know your full name, L. And obviously _you_ were not passing out your secrets to B.”

“No," L said blandly, now constructing a tiny sugar cube pyramid on the table top. "Obviously not."

“So how the devil did he find out, I wonder?” Watari frowned. “Well, and then there’s the obvious threat of B having loose lips. Has he kept it entirely to himself?”

“I wouldn’t have any means of knowing, Watari," L sighed. "Though I suppose both times he spoke the name aloud in my presence, it was very much meant for only my ears to hear.”

“Indeed? Well, that’s a small consolation, I suppose.” Watari leaned back against the doorframe, watching the lights flicker above as thunder rolled outside.

L topped his pyramid with the final sugar cube and fell back in his seat. “A minuscule consolation. It really proves nothing at all reassuring, in fact. B is the perfect definition of a loose cannon, Watari. He’s young, but also dangerously unpredictable. I can't think of a less desirable person to have come across the knowledge of my true name. It’s been eating away at my peace of mind these last few weeks like nothing else has in the past, and my concentration is at an all-time low.”

Watari nodded sympathetically. “I was wondering why this endeavour is taking a tad longer than usual. But I can’t imagine how B could possibly do damage to your reputation in any way with that one piece of knowledge, as unfortunate as the situation may be. Spread it amongst the students, maybe. Harm your carefully constructed shroud of secrecy, yes. But even making it widely public knowledge would not prove the end of your reign as the world’s greatest detective by any stretch of the imagination. You have many aliases, after all. Ones B himself should not even be aware of yet. There is only so much damage one can do with simply a name.”

L lowered his mouth to press firmly against the top of his knees. “You are correct, of course,” he murmured against the denim. Watari was far too forgiving of the orphans he took in, L thought. He didn't mind when the lenience was directed at himself, naturally, but B was another thing altogether. “I would still like B to be tracked down just to be safe, however. We've waited too long as it is, and I do not trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“Very well," Watari conceded. "I'll make some calls here in a moment. But perhaps you are working too hard, L. I’ll be back with your cake soon, but in the meantime, why not take a break? Take a stroll through the hallways, have a look at the children’s costumes. What’s the worst that could happen? B has made himself completely scarce these days after all, and the other students should pose no threat."

L was already leaning to retrieve an abandoned file from where he left it on the floor. “The other children do in fact pose a great threat to my sanity, Watari. My last solo visit to the kitchens proved very unpleasant, and I am not making the same mistake again by wandering the hallways unnecessarily.”

“Oh, I can’t imagine it was all _that_ bad.”

“It most certainly was.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back shortly. But please do try to relax a little, son. I realize you are a highly motivated person, but as they say, Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“Duly noted, Watari, thank you,” L replied dismissively, daintily reopening the file with his fingertips alone and scanning the contents for the umpteenth time that day.

\--  
  
_BOOOOOM._

Watari had barely opened the door when there was an ear-splitting eruption of thunder, and every light in the room was extinguished into pitch blackness. L dropped the file to the table in surprise, the clatter of his sugar pyramid’s demise echoing distinctly through the gloom.

_Perfect. Just perfect._

Watari mumbled something inaudible in the darkness, pressing past L's chair and picking his way toward the far dresser. “Most unfortunate. Though I do believe we’ve kept a stash of candles and matches in the top drawers of all the bureaus for emergencies such as this.”

L blinked several times, trying to force his eyes to adjust more rapidly. “Surely a stash of flashlights would be much more efficient in this day and age, Watari.”

Watari chuckled softly. “Ah, but candle light proves so much more dramatic, don’t you think? There’s a certain romantic appeal to it, I find.”  
  
“Romantic, perhaps, until some panicked prodigy ends up burning the building down.”

“Hmm. That is a valid point. Perhaps we should update our emergency supplies, after all—Ah, but here we have it.” There was the hiss of a match being struck, and a small yellow flame burst out of the darkness. Watari passed the glowing candle to L by its brass holder, and then rummaged in the drawer for a second candle.

Another explosion of electricity rippled through the clouds, the thunder following almost immediately this time. The storm was raging very close now, indeed.

L perked up his ears. “I can hear some of the children crying out there. How exactly does one approach a situation like this, Watari?”

“Well, I don’t recall ever experiencing a total power outage at Wammy’s House in the past, but people tend to congregate in these situations. I imagine everyone will head down to the Grand Entrance Hall. I suppose we should be making our way there, as well.”

That idea did not appeal to L in the slightest. “Perhaps I will wait here until the power is restored,” he suggested, holding the candle delicately at arm’s length as though afraid it would singe him. Standing in the pitch blackness amongst a congregation of panicked, sugar-high students for an unspecified amount of time certainly was not his definition of fun.

Watari’s candle was now bobbing its way across the bedroom to the exit. “Well, it is your choice, of course. But it could be a very long time before the electricity returns, and I feel I am obligated to take control in events such as these, so if you’ll excuse me, I must be off.” The door swung open to reveal the situation in the hallway.

There were scores of children rushing toward the Entrance Hall, just as Watari had predicted. They were shouting to each other, and occasionally carrying lit candles that bobbled around like drunken fireflies as they hurried past. Some of the students were laughing and joking with each other; others were shrieking loudly, a few of them sniffling with fear. It was a ruckus. Watari slipped into the sea of students and was carried down the corridor out of sight. L stood in the doorway with his candle cupped to his chest and watched the procession with interest.

It was somewhat mesmerizing to behold. There were so very many students in the establishment now. Or maybe it was just the loud commotion that made it seem that way. In any case, still hard to believe so many children had been gathered for a chance at his title already.

How different would his own upbringing have been, had he been surrounded by so many like-minded peers? L's childhood and adolescence had been just as solitary as his adulthood, entirely focused on his professional success. He watched the costumed children laughing and horsing around together, and was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy. Sometimes he felt like he'd missed out on a childhood altogether, truth be told.

Suddenly, L felt something clamp around his waist.

He brought his candle down to better make out the culprit. It appeared there was a very small blonde person latching onto his lower half with a bear hug.

L cleared his throat in uncertainty. “Ahem. May I ask what it is you think you’re doing?” he muttered awkwardly.

The child made no reply, pressing her face into his torso and sniffling. She was probably wiping her runny nose on his shirttail.

L looked about helplessly for a moment, once again at a complete loss at the hands of a bold child. Apparently, finding a way to get used to unexpected physical contact was a necessary undertaking in this establishment. “I believe you should be currently making your way to the Entrance Hall with the others,” he mumbled softly.

The tiny orphan lifted her tear-streaked face to gaze up with the most pathetic expression. “But I’m so scared of the dark, and everyone left me!”

L stared back at her uncomprehendingly. “Is that so? Then I shall give you my candle to chase the shadows away. Off you go now,” he dismissed, generously offering the light out for her to take.

The child shook her head and nuzzled back against his waist. “But I don’t want to go by myself. Can you please hold my hand?”

“No, I’m afraid that is not one of the proffered options.”

“Then I’m not going!”

“And you will be soundly disciplined for your impertinence, no doubt.”

“You’re a big meanie.”

“And you’re a small annoyance. Please remove your arms.”

“No.”

L sighed. He hadn’t thought it possible, but this little pipsqueak was somehow even more insolent than B. “It appears we have come to a stand-still in diplomatic negotiations, then.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Very well. I am going to offer you a compromise. If I accompany you to the spiral staircase, will you promise not to wipe your nose on my shirt again?”

She squeezed her arms around his waist even tighter and nodded. “I promise.”

“Fine, then we are agreed. Let's be off.”

“Only if you hold my hand.”

“That was not part of the agreement.”

“Please?” she slithered an arm from around his waist and snatched up his free hand suddenly in her own.  
  
“It appears I have little say in the matter. Let’s be on with it, then.” He bolted the door behind himself and let the tiny child lead the way.

Another snarl of the thunderstorm rolled through the building, and L was suddenly trotting down the hallway as quickly as he could without breaking into a jog, the girl yanking him in tow. His candle was close to sputtering out.

She tossed a curious look over her shoulder. “So, are you L?”

He blinked, utterly bemused. “You mean to say you had absolutely no idea who I was before latching onto my legs?”

She shook her head solemnly. “Nope, I just sorta guessed.”

“Well, that’s not a very wise thing to do to anyone, least of all a mysterious stranger standing in a darkened hallway.”

“Yeah, but everyone’s always said that L looks almost exactly like B. So I figured it was you, since he’s gone now and all.”

“...I see.”

They had finally come to a halt in front of the grand staircase. The detective plucked his fingers away and wiped them carefully against his jeans. “Here we are. I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain, as well. Now be off.”

The child sped down the spiral staircase, suddenly dismissing L without so much as a measly thank you. He stood at the top and watched her disappear around the twist, noting with satisfaction that he had indeed made a wise choice by opting to stay behind until the lighting situation was brought under control. There was a louder ruckus coming from the floor below than he cared to deal with, that was for certain.

L was about to turn on his heel and slouch back to his bedroom, when a volley of horrified shrieks from the lower level froze him in his tracks.

_Now what?_

He cupped a palm behind his ear and craned his head to listen. 

“ _What do you mean, he set himself on FIRE?”_

Well, _that_ had certainly grabbed his attention. L descended the rest of the steps, taking in the sights of the lower level.

It looked as though the entire population of Wammy’s was currently milling about the spacious front hall. The students were a mass of confusion, and there were several adults attempting to herd the younger crowd back in the general direction of the staircase. They all seemed to be retreating from something that was taking place down one of the farther halls, the teachers arguing with the students.

“Alright, everybody up the staircase and back to your bedrooms now!”

“But wait, we want to know what’s going on.”

“You will be informed of the situation as soon as everything is under control. Now please find a friend and make yourselves comfortable back in each other’s dormitories.”

L rounded the corner and abruptly came face-to-face with the large group.

“Hey, it’s L!”

There were gasps of surprise as the students halted in their tracks to get a good look at their elusive idol, finally making a rare public appearance. He did not pause to allow their curious stares, pushing through the crowd as the teachers immediately set about clearing a pathway for him.

“Oh, there you are, L. I was just about to go back upstairs to retrieve you.” Watari ushered him over to where he stood in the corner, engaged in a hushed discussion with one of the teachers.

“What on earth is going on, Watari?”  

Several teachers were pounding up and down the cellar stairs, and others congregated around something on the floor that L couldn’t quite make out. 

“I’m not entirely certain, son. We’re trying to stay out of the way for now. From what I can gather, there’s been a fire in the cellar involving Roger, and two very distraught young boys.” 

“Was anybody harmed in the incident?”

“Well, the boys are not burnt, but appear genuinely traumatized," Watari muttered, tugging his moustache. "It hasn’t been confirmed yet, but I have the dreadful feeling Roger might be a bit worse for the wear. Oh, I do hope this had nothing to do with the candles. You were right about that being a foolish safety hazard.”

L wasn’t listening anymore. He thrust his candle holder into Watari’s hand and pressed his way into the ring of frenzied teachers by the cellar, finally getting a good look on his tiptoes at what they were all surrounding.

Matt and Mello were sprawled in the midst of the overwhelming attention, looking as though they’d just seen a horrific ghost. Mello was a sickly shade of green. Matt was glazed in sweat and chattering away in a very detached tone.

“I _told_ you, we were just going down there to pull a harmless prank on Roger, and then the lights went out and he went up in flames all the sudden... ” Matt's uneasy eyes flitted from face to face.

“So what, he just pulled out a match and started burning his own _body?”_

“Yes. He was soaked in fuel already, it didn’t take very much time at all.”

“You expect us to believe _that_?”  
  
Matt was trembling. “Does it look like I’m joking? God, can’t you _smell_ it? Go see for yourself. It sounds insane, but that’s what we saw. Didn’t we, Mello? Back me up here, man.”

L had indeed noticed a very sickening odour now wafting up from the cellar, and his hand flew up to clamp over his mouth in reflex. The other adults appeared to have picked up on it as well, as they all covered their noses with groans of dread and disgust.

Mello made no response for a very long moment. Then, very slowly, he lifted his head. He had smeared whiskers drawn on his cheeks and a headpiece dangling almost comically from one ear. Even so, his eyes were full of a biting conviction that rendered every teacher instantly silent.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what we saw. We wouldn’t make something like this up. Go see for yourselves if you don’t believe us. Roger was down there to burn one of the student's records, and obviously do away with himself as well.” 

Mello’s eyes widened suddenly as he noticed the detective standing silently in the crowd. “Hey,” he said softly.

Every other pair of eyes turned at that to notice L for the first time, too. He blinked and brought a foot up to scratch at his leg. He felt very acutely the need to say something profound, but words failed him utterly.

Suddenly, there was a panicked bellow from the stairway that made the entire congregation jump in unison. “We need all the help we can get down here immediately!”

"What’s going on down there, Phillip? Is Roger alright?”

The weary reply came floating out of the gloom after a lengthy pause. “No, Marie. Roger.... We couldn’t put the flames out in time. Roger is gone.”

There was a collective gasp. L turned to exchange a wide-eyed glance with Watari, who was now standing at his side.

“What is going on, L?”

“The headmaster has apparently burnt himself to death in the cellar, Watari.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“That is the unanimous sentiment regarding such an explanation, yes. But it's been confirmed just now.”

As if on cue, a tangle of people emerged from the cellar, clumsily carrying a blue tarp wrapped around what was clearly the smouldering remains of Roger’s corpse. Several of the teachers were now joining the blond boy on the floor in his previous act of being violently ill. 

One of the more stoic women grabbed Matt and Mello by the arms and coaxed them back up the stairs. They followed her on wobbling legs, without protest.

L watched the teachers struggle valiantly to drag the tarp to the nearest exit. No matter how recent the horrific occurrence, they knew they had to get the body out of the orphanage as quickly as possible. L admired their courage.

The man called Phillip leaned heavily against the cellar doorframe, his breath coming in shallow gasps. L sidled over to stand next to him, and with a palm still clamped over his nose and mouth, he turned to speak to the teacher in a muffled voice. “Is it true that Roger was burning a student’s file at the time?”

Phillip nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m afraid so. There was a student's file missing from the archives, ashes in its place, just like the boys said.”

L didn’t want to ask. He wasn’t entirely sure in the least how he already _knew_. But somehow, he just did. “I see. And which student’s file was destroyed?”

“It was... it was that strange student who’s been missing for the past couple of days. You know, former top of the class. Goes by B around here."

Of course it was. L lowered his hand from his mouth, already trailing away to take a post at the window. “Yes. I am rather well-acquainted with B already. Thank you for your time, Phillip." He peered past the bars to the heart-wrenching scene taking place out of doors.

The band of teachers were lifting Roger's body into the back of one of their vehicles. They slipped treacherously in the muck, the merciless wind and rain hounding them as they carried out their despicable task. It would be a very hard spectacle to explain to any students who might be watching out the windows at the moment. A ripple of lightning illuminated the disturbing events brilliantly for an instant, and L turned away from the window again to pace the floors.

Yes. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most depressing birthday ever suffered in the history of mankind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: L's birthday actually is on Halloween, according to the "How to Read" book.
> 
> Also, it is probably blatantly obvious by now that I have a burning desire to glomp L at all times. (sigh) Oh well.
> 
> Anyways, thanks so much for reading, reviewing, and leaving your kudos, everyone! Means a lot. I realize this story's word count is kind of gigantic already, and I so appreciate your patience with it as I get the ol' plot ball rolling. Another update ought to be coming soon, this one with a lot more “B with a Death Note” action, and dear ol' Light's introduction shouldn't be super far around the corner, either.
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Belief

**November 5, 2003**

-

Near was an exceptionally gifted boy in many respects. There was no denying that, and the young prodigy was often praised by teachers and fellow students alike for his vast intelligence and impeccable grades. It was widely thought that even at the tender age of twelve he was already a very promising candidate for L’s title. Consequently, the boy was also often an object of rather jealous attention and scrutiny amongst his peers whenever he chose to display any of the many abilities he naturally possessed.

However, there were still a select few talents Near retained which seemed to continually pass under most people’s radars. Even the most admiring or envious classmates didn’t seem to notice that he had hidden abilities aside from his academic prowess, things that had really nothing at all to do with schoolwork or logical problem solving.

In fact, the most prominent of the boy’s secret gifts was the very act of passing under people’s radars itself. The subtle art of eavesdropping, and turning himself essentially invisible in the process whenever he chose to, was a skill that Near had already practically honed to perfection. His presence in a gathering was often less prominent than the potted plant in the corner of the room, and he very much liked it that way.

After all, the less Near spoke, the more he could listen. The more he could listen, the more knowledgeable he would become. And the more knowledgeable he became, the closer he would get to being chosen as the next L.

Yes, Near was an excellent little eavesdropper when he wanted to be, indeed. And recently, now that he was being left so unfairly in the dark about all of the confusion surrounding Roger’s death, it was proving an incredibly handy talent to possess.

\--

“Look, it was no accident. I saw it with my own eyes. He was set on committing suicide from the very moment he stepped down the stairs. He took the canister with him, for crying out loud. He doused himself, he lit the match. Completely premeditated.”

“But why would Roger want to kill himself? It doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Near inched forward to get a better look. He was crouching behind a bookshelf that he had chosen as suitable cover, and peering through a gap in the books.

The library was normally empty at this early hour. Currently, the only other people here aside from Near were the small gathering of students across the room, perched in armchairs which they'd dragged into a ragged semi-circle of conspiracy. Near had to pull a few more books off the shelf to see who exactly was capturing the group’s attention.

Yes, just as he’d thought. Mello, acting precisely like he owned the place, with the way he draped himself across the largest armchair of them all. He looked for all the world like the king of the rag-tag little pride of orphans, basking in the undivided attention.

There were six in the group, all told: four boys and two girls. Near was familiar with them all, of course. He was also not surprised at all to see Matt was one of the few gathered, slumping with his back against the base of Mello’s chair. Never a Mello around without a Matt following close behind, after all.

The blond centre of attention narrowed his eyes and rounded on the small boy with the goofy bowl cut to his right. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t make any sense, J. That’s all anyone here says. You think I haven't noticed how everyone is looking at us now? But we wouldn’t have made up such a stupid story if we were trying to hide something else suspicious, would we? If nobody would believe it, then it wouldn’t be a very good cover at all. Maybe use your brain for once.”

J scowled and crossed his arms, muttering, “Okay, jeez. Don’t have to be such a big jerk.”

The petite girl with the braids whom Near knew as Viola reached to pat little J’s knee soothingly, and nodded her head in solemn agreement. “Mello, J’s got a point. The idea of Roger committing suicide _is_ a pretty hard one to believe. Especially in such a horrible way. And sorry, but we didn’t see it for ourselves, so we have to just take your word for it."

The other girl in the gathering was a perky brunette by the name of Linda. She added, “It's not that we think you guys are lying, but I agree that it seems like it's not the whole story here. It’s totally creepy and absurd, and nothing like the Roger we knew at all.”

The tall boy with thick glasses and a turtleneck chimed in with a nasally whisper. “Yeah, really. The old man definitely wasn’t a psycho, or depressed or anything, as far as I could tell. Sheesh, he was practically walking on sunshine for the past couple of weeks.”

Little J vigorously nodded in agreement. “Yup, he was always in such a good mood lately, whistlin’, and smilin’, and jokin’ around with Mr. Wammy... got pretty annoying fast, actually. And after Roger got to lock B up for a while there, well... you pretty much couldn’t have _slapped_ the grin off his face at that point.”

Mello sighed and picked at a loose thread on the cushion of his chair, eyeing the rest of the children with obvious distaste for their protests. He opened his mouth to snap out a response, but was cut off by Matt speaking up for the first time.

“You know, it’s funny you should mention B, actually.”

J blinked in confusion. “Funny, why?”

Near saw Matt pause to glance up at Mello, as though silently asking for his permission before elaborating. “Because as it just so happens, he was kind of tied in directly with the whole Roger situation.”

The turtlenecked boy leaned in confidentially. “Wait, what do you mean? B wasn’t down there, too, was he?”

Mello snorted and finally tore the loose thread from the chair with a sharp tug. “No. B’s gone for good, everyone knows that. He wouldn’t dare show his face around here anymore, not after I gave him the solid licking of a lifetime.”

Matt rubbed a hand through his hair somewhat wearily and continued with his explanation. “No, Quentin. What I mean is that the other reason Roger went down to the basement was to burn one of the student’s records. He incinerated B’s file before he lit himself up, too. We saw it with our own eyes.”

The small gathering of students fell silent at that little revelation for a moment and exchanged bewildered looks. Near understood their confusion. The grown-ups certainly hadn’t felt the need to divulge that particular piece of information to the students. They claimed it was merely a tragic accident with the candles, which was obviously the story Mello and Matt had been told to stick to, as well.

So much for that, it would seem. But as Near thought about it now, this new piece of information actually sort of made a little sense.

Quentin was the first one to find his voice again. “Now hold it just a minute. Why would Roger want to burn all records of B’s past? That’s crazy. Those files hold everything there is to know about us and our lives before coming to Wammy’s. Our names, our birth records, known genealogy... all of it. He’d have destroyed all kinds of important stuff for no reason.”

Matt shrugged. “We didn’t say we knew _why_ he did it, Quentin. Your guess is as good as ours.”

Viola was staring ponderously into the fire grate. “Huh. So he wasn’t just ending his own life... he was also tampering with the school records. That really just... well, it confuses things even more, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It may not have been Roger’s idea, but _somebody_ obviously wanted them erased for good,” Matt theorized, shooting another uncertain glance at Mello. “Maybe the old man was blackmailed into doing it or something?”

Quentin sighed and shoved his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “No, that’s not it. ‘Cause if he’d gone and followed their orders obediently, he wouldn’t still have to snuff himself out on top of it afterwards.”

J decided to squawk out his own two cents' worth at that point. “Well, maybe he just couldn’t stand to live with himself any longer after the guilt of what he’d done!”

“Hah. Nice try, J. But I don’t think anyone would place quite _that_ much importance on the documenting of B’s past.”

“Ahh, shut up.”

Viola chose the little pause that followed to blurt out a seemingly burning question. “So was it like, really scary? I bet you guys must’ve been pretty hysterical. I know I would’ve been.”

J snickered and fell back in his seat, apparently eager to spread the teasing around _._ “Hell yeah, they were _petrified_! Didn’t you hear them bawling like babies when we were all waiting for the power to come back?”

Mello looked about ready to leap up from his chair at that point, and Matt had visibly gone tense. “Yeah, I’d really like to see how _you_ would've handled it, you little runt,” the blond snapped, flexing his hands into fists. “Of course it was freaky. Not exactly every day you’re in the pitch black of a basement and running into a screaming mass of flaming molten flesh that used to be your teacher, now, is it?”

J shrank back in his chair, looking thoroughly chastised.

Matt groaned then, bringing the heel of a palm up to rub at his eyes. “ _Ugh_. God Mello, please don’t describe it like that. I’m still having enough trouble sleeping as it is.”

“What, you think _you’ve_ had it rough? I haven’t been able to eat anything all week without getting totally sick again. Especially meat. But I mean, not even chocolate.”

Viola was watching them with the most sympathetic expression. “You poor boys,” she murmured. “It must have been just absolutely awful to have to see. I’m so glad they had him cremated for the funeral. I just don’t think I could’ve handled looking at him again after all that.”

J rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like they’d even do that, Viola. I mean, even if his body hadn’t been totally ruined by the fire and stuff. Don’t you remember, no more open casket funerals? A’s was too devastating for everybody.”

Viola flinched. “Oh, no," she whispered, lowering her head to cradle against her knees. "Please, let’s not bring that up again on top of everything else."

Linda fidgeted with the sleeves of her shirt and nodded glumly. “Seriously, one tragedy at a time. Let’s just try to figure out why Roger would’ve needed to burn up B’s files. We’re all aspiring detectives here, right? Maybe if we put our heads together, we could--”

Quentin cut the other prodigy off with a loud, dismissive huff. “ _Pssh_. Why even bother? We’ve got L himself here now, don’t we? He should be able to figure it out for us in no time.”

Matt sighed. “No, L’s busy working on some other big cases. We heard him saying something about having a lot of work to do a while back. He obviously hasn’t cracked them all yet, or else he wouldn’t still be here.”

Near begged to differ on that front, though L hadn't exactly been helpful with confirming his own theories earlier when he'd shared them with him.

J frowned in confusion and disapproval, muttering, “Sheesh, what in the heck’s taking him so long, then? I thought he’s supposed to be _the_ _best detective in the world_. It supposedly never takes him more than a few days to solve anything.”

Mello’s eyes flashed dangerously, which was enough to make the younger loudmouth fall silent again. “He _is_ the best detective in the world, moron, so don’t you go bad-mouthing him. I don’t blame him for taking longer than usual, not when he’s living in this madhouse. You just wait, he’s gonna solve those cases no problem any day now.” He crossed his arms with a stubborn conviction.

Linda’s eyes started to sparkle at those words. “Hey, yeah... maybe thenhe’d be free to let us meet him," she mused dreamily. "I’ve seen glimpses of him around once or twice, but still never had the chance to actually _talk_ to him yet. Oh, I would just have _so_ many questions to ask him.” 

Quentin shushed her and jabbed a finger to the back of the library. “Heads up, librarian on the prowl.”

Near watched as the students fell silent and sunk down guiltily in their chairs. They each snatched up a book from the seat beside them and cracked it open, putting on looks of the deepest concentration. It was a plan they’d developed beforehand, obviously: pretending to be a simple study group until the adult threat had passed.

The librarian paused to stand over them and watched suspiciously for a moment. The tension in the group was palpable. Quentin coughed nervously, and Near saw Mello’s eye twitch ever so slightly in repressed irritation.

“Are we studying hard, children?” the woman murmured dryly, hands on her hips.

Linda looked up with the sweetest smile she could muster and chirped, “Yes, we’re just cramming a little before we start to quiz each other, Ms. Cromwell. Midterms are coming up fairly soon, and six heads are always better than one!”

Ms. Cromwell raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? Well, in that case, somebody ought to tell poor J that studying generally provides better results when one reads the text right-side up.”

J squeaked and flipped his book around. “I was just, uh, looking at one of the diagrams from another angle,” he covered clumsily, blushing. Mello’s face was also turning a slight shade of red, Near observed.

The librarian had a hint of a smile playing at her lips at that point, but she simply shook her head and turned her attention to the two boys nearest to the fireplace. “Well, as terrible as I feel to break up such a _studious_ group of young people, I’m afraid I’ve been sent here on a mission. I'm going to ask you four to leave the library for a while, please. But Matt, Mello, if you’d just stay where you are. There’s somebody who wishes to speak with you now, and it’s rather important.”

“Are we in trouble?” Matt asked.

“No, not in trouble, dears. But you are being requested for a private chat with one of your respectable superiors, and they have a very busy schedule, so if the rest of you would please come along with me immediately.”

The little group gasped in unison, and the two chosen boys exchanged furtive glances. Near saw clearly that all were thinking the same thing: _“L.”_

Mello snapped his book shut, eager and wide-eyed. Matt looked pale.

The librarian ushered the rest of the little group of conspirators out of the room, all of them looking utterly snubbed and entirely envious. Near sighed with relief as the doors closed behind them all, happy to note that his presence seemed to have passed undetected.

\--

Minutes crawled by. The boys fussed with their clothes and sat very upright in their chairs, looking anxiously around. “Is he coming? I don’t see him anywhere,” Mello whispered, glancing from left to right as though expecting the detective to suddenly leap out from behind a bookshelf or something.

“Wait. I think I see someone sitting over by the other fireplace,” Matt said, hopping up to lead the way. The boys rounded the corner of the far shelves, and Near shuffled along the aisle behind them, stealthily pulling books aside as he went to keep everything in his line of sight.

L was indeed seated by the other fireplace, crouching in the largest, plushest armchair of them all. He was bending over a little portable silver tray and poking at some kind of a strawberry tart with a fork.

Near watched as the two boys exchanged wary glances, took deep breaths, and then finally made their way down the aisle toward the detective. L looked up from his breakfast after a moment and regarded their approach with an utterly unreadable expression. The boys came to a halt a few paces away from his chair and fidgeted nervously, seemingly not quite sure how exactly to address their reclusive superior.

“Ahh, Mello, Matt," L suddenly greeted in a cheery manner. "Perfectly punctual with your tardiness, I see. Good morning to you both.” He seemed to be in a genuinely good mood. Mello went to bow his head a little clumsily, and Matt mumbled something along the lines of, “Sir, good morning, sir.”

L watched the boys flounder about awkwardly for a moment. He plucked a strawberry off his tart and slid it daintily between his teeth before continuing. “It appears I am making you nervous. There is no need to trip all over yourselves. As you may have deduced already, we’re merely going to have a friendly little discussion revolving around some pressing issues that the both of you have become entangled within. Please have a seat,” he offered, his bare toes wriggling energetically on the cushion.

The boys nodded and shuffled over to sink rigidly into the nearby sofa.

L seemed much more in his element now than he did the other day in the kitchen, Near thought.

“I apologize for the early hour at which I sought your company. But you must understand, my schedule is a tightly packed one these days, and I’m certain yours is as well. So let us try to keep this exchange as brief as possible, yes?” The detective lapped at the prongs of his fork, his gigantic eyes raking over each of the boys in turn. No doubt he was analyzing every little visual detail with that calculating mind.

“Yes sir, you can ask me anything,” Mello piped up, eager to please.

L swiped a dab of berry juice up from the plate and suckled it thoughtfully. “Very well, Mello. I will start with you. Where precisely were you on the evening of October 31st at the time of the total power outage? It took place at approximately 8:50 p.m., for further clarification.”

Mello blinked and swallowed. He clearly didn’t like the sudden accusatory shift in tone. “I was, uh... in the basement of the school, with Matt,” he stammered.

L pushed a crumb around the plate and lifted his eyes to bore intently into Mello's. “I see. In the basement of the school that is locked and strictly off-limits to students at all times, correct?”

Mello nodded sheepishly, his fingers inching down to tug at the knees of his jeans. “Yeah, we were just um, on our way to play a harmless prank on Roger. It was pretty much Matt’s idea,” he muttered. Matt rolled his eyes at that and slumped moodily in the seat.

L slipped the crumb onto his cutlery and brought it up to nibble. “And you can completely confirm his story, Matt?”

Matt nodded dully. “Yeah, it’s true. I wanted to egg the headmaster when I saw him going down in the basement, so I picked the lock for us. And you know, since it was Halloween and all, we figured we could get away with being a little extra mischievous or something, I guess.”

L set his fork neatly on the edge of his plate and leaned back in his chair to clutch his knees, his gaze shifting to accost the redhead with those unsettling eyes. “Extra mischievous, you say? And just what degree of mischief did you boys attain that evening, exactly?”

Matt glanced helplessly at Mello before responding. “Well, we didn’t get to actually do anything before the power went off. After the power went out, we sort of freaked out a bit and tried to run. It was right about then that Roger, you know... He burned B’s file, and then— _crrrk.“_ Matt made the motion of a finger swiping across his neck.

L merely wiggled his toes and said nothing for a moment. His eyes eventually traveled back to the blond. “And is this entirely compatible with your version of the experience, Mello?”

Mello nodded, staring bleakly at the carpet.

L pressed his chin against his knees and raised his eyes to the ceiling in apparent thought. “I see. So, as you boys put it, you felt the sudden need to pull a harmless prank on your teacher, forced entry and followed him into the basement, and then were thrown off kilter by the abrupt loss of electricity. You then witnessed Roger igniting a confidential file before immediately dousing himself with gasoline and committing suicide. Is this a correct summarization?”

 The boys exchanged glances and then nodded in unison. “Yep, that’s pretty much how it happened, I guess."

L’s eyes slid back from their fixation on the ceiling to bore harshly into the two prodigies on the couch again. “And why precisely should I believe a word of either story, may I ask?”

Mello’s head snapped up. “Not you too,” he cried, fingers digging into the denim of his pants. “I thought for sure _you_ would believe us.”

L merely blinked. “I don’t know why you would be under the impression that I would whole-heartedly accept the testimony of two students with a clear past of trouble-making antics without further personal investigation. A death surrounded by such shady circumstances as these means no stone must be left unturned -- and therefore, no suspects go unquestioned.”

Matt looked stricken. Mello’s face was flushing red, and Near knew all too well that meant the boy was very close to going off the deep-end. Mello's previous attempts to please the detective were clearly being pushed back to a further corner of his mind as that quick temper bubbled to the surface.

“Suspects? But we’re not lying,” he snapped, kicking a boot against the base of his chair. “Why the hell would we have any reason to do anything that took place down there? It makes no sense.”

L regarded the explosive prodigy with a mild interest. “It appears you are rather fed up with the lack of support your story has been receiving."

Mello gaped at that. “Of _course_ we’re fed up with it! You’d think we’d been through enough already just witnessing a grotesque thing like that without getting accused of criminal behaviour on top of everything else. And with no clear motivation to back up the suspicion, either. You’re supposedly the best detective there is, so why can’t you see that we are telling the truth?”

Matt looked truly mortified. “Uh, Mello, I think you’ve said more than enough already." He reached out to ease Mello back in his seat, but Mello shoved him aside and continued urgently: “I know it’s a crazy thing to believe, but it’s true. There has to be physical evidence or something down there to back us up!”

L nibbled his thumbnail with a thoughtful expression, gazing intently back at the trembling prodigy. “Physical evidence can be easily planted or staged, I’m afraid. It is true that most possible motivations for the two of you committing such an atrocious crime would be convoluted conjecture at best...”

“Total _bullshit,_ you mean,” Mello growled.

Matt groaned and actually buried his face in his hands then.

L waited patiently until the livid blond had lapsed into silence again before continuing calmly. “...But as I said before, I would not be doing a thorough investigation if I didn’t first interview all persons involved. Surely a training successor such as yourself would understand that most basic rule of the trade, Mello. Your defensiveness is understandable, considering all you’ve been through these past few days. But please bear with it, if only for the sake of sooner uncovering the truth behind this mystery.”

Mello sighed and plopped back into his chair. “But I’m _trying_ to tell you the truth behind the mystery, and you’re not listening to me. So how can you uncover it if you refuse to acknowledge it?”

L plucked his thumbnail from his mouth. “It is the truth according to you two alone, and nobody else has an alternate perspective to add at the moment. So I must objectively sift through all remaining clues for myself, as well as take into account your testimonials. However, if it will pacify you in the slightest, I can promise you that I believe it is a very small possibility indeed that you two actually had anything to do with Roger’s death.”

Mello’s eyes widened in shock, and Matt’s head shot up from his lap immediately again.

“You—what, it _is_?”

“Yes, less than a one percent chance.”

“Well then, jeez. Why the third degree?”

At that, L’s eyes flashed with a spark of irritation for the first time since the conversation had began. “I do not like repeating myself, so I will not explain my reasons for the interrogation yet again. Rest assured, I have thoroughly explored the crime scene and all physical evidence for myself, and your story seems to be a plausible one. It was in fact my discussions with the teachers that convinced them of your innocence, so please hold no ill will against me. I don't detect any dishonesty from either of your accounts, and this only further assures me that you two are not the culprits behind Roger’s death.”

Mello and Matt exchanged bewildered glances.

“But... but sir, we already told you, Roger committed suicide,” Matt said finally. “It wasn’t actually a crime, or murder or anything, I mean. There was nobody else down there. I know we don’t have any way of proving it, but believe me, it was completely his decision to, uh... bite the dust.”

L tugged at the hems of his jeans and gazed placidly out from behind his knees. “Yes, so it would seem,” he replied vaguely, offering no further explanation.

Mello frowned in consternation. “So wait... you _do_ think there was somebody else behind the whole thing, forcing Roger to burn the file and kill himself? I mean, we tossed the idea around a little, but...”

L appeared to be thinking over his response rather carefully. “I will not deny that the possibility has crossed my mind many times over the past few days," he replied eventually. "However, I do not feel at liberty to discuss such unconfirmed theories with you two. There is much speculation and analyzing yet to be done, and nothing to be gained from prematurely voicing any of it. Not to mention, the two of you haven’t proven the most trustworthy with confidential information,” he added as a rather accusatory afterthought.

Mello crossed his arms and slid a little lower on his seat. “If you’re referring to the fact that we decided to tell the other kids what happened down in the basement, well, I’m not too sorry for that. Most of them don't even believe us, anyway. But we had to try. The way the adults are trying to keep everything under wraps from everyone just makes the rumours ten times worse, and I didn’t want to come off looking guiltier than I already do. Besides, I think we deserve a little more respect around here than the grown-ups seem to want to give us. They treat us like naïve idiots most of the time, incapable of handling the truth.”

Near thought Matt probably would never have the guts to go and say something bold like that, but the redhead couldn't help but nod in silent assent.

L looked as though he had something to say on the matter, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, an electronic ringing sounded abruptly through the deserted library. The detective reached immediately into the pocket of his jeans and plucked out a small black cell phone, snapping it open and holding it by the utmost tip. “What is it, Watari?”

Near, Mello and Matt watched as L listened silently to the voice on the other end. He was motionless, sitting still as a statue. His eyes flickered back and forth ever so slightly as he processed the audio information. L suddenly leaned forward and got a very concentrated look. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean. Please slow down, Watari, I can’t--”

Mello and Matt exchanged uneasy glances, a feeling Near shared entirely.

_What was going on?_

“No, what are you saying? That’s simply not possible, I--” L started again, his brows furrowing. His head snapped upright again, eyes wider than ever, and the little colour his complexion possessed seemed to drain all at once. There was obviously some terrible news being relayed over the phone.

“Yes, I’ll be right there, Watari. Please stay calm and maintain contact with them until I arrive.” L was on his feet immediately, shoving the phone back into his pocket and turning to face the bewildered prodigies on the couch. “This conversation is officially over," he muttered, hastily making his way toward the exit. "Thank you for your time, you may resume your regular schedules."

“But wait, what’s going on, sir?” Matt called after him. “Did something happen to Watari?”

L paused to glance back. He looked more shaken than Near had ever seen him before. “The phone call is none of your concern at the moment, and I must insist the two of you keep all you have heard from this end completely to yourselves.”

Mello crossed his arms defiantly. “And what if we don’t?”

L’s eyes were suddenly full of a fiery warning. “Then I can assure you, there will be dire consequences from which you will certainly not be exempt this time around.” He rounded as he reached the exit and then tossed back over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought: “That goes for you as well, Near.”

And with that, L was out the door, leaving three very confused prodigies sitting in the library, staring numbly into space.

\-- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon, just had to break it up into chunks. Will post the rest once I get a chance to edit it to my liking. Thanks for reading!


	7. Beckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there will be some briefly described gory bits in this chapter. Some Death Note related carnage, that is. Certainly nothing too gut-wrenching, but feel free to skip over such parts if you so choose.

**November 5, 2003**

**-**

**Belmarsh Maximum Security Prison  
London, England**

6:43 a.m.- Greenwich Mean Time (GMT)

Approximately ten minutes before Matt and Mello began their early morning meeting with L, a inmate by the name of Harold Blythe had been sitting sleeplessly on the cot of his prison cell, staring at the cracks in the wall. He sighed and lifted a trembling hand to smooth a few greasy locks of hair back across his bald spot.

This cell, or one very like it, was going to be home sweet home for the remainder of his life. And he was already sick to death of staring endlessly at the same four walls.

He had been so close to escaping unscathed, undiscovered. If only he hadn’t become so careless near the end. He had grown a little too cocky, perhaps, after so many months undeterred in his crimes. Made a few too many slip-ups.

But how was he supposed to know that fucking _L himself_ would find the case interesting enough to take on as one of his own investigations?

**6:47 a.m. (GMT)**

Blythe stood to his feet abruptly and seemed to snap to attention, spine poker-stiff. He stomped his way across the jail cell floor with arms dangling at his sides, and sat rigidly at the desk.

He gaped blankly at the wall in front of him as he pulled out a pen and one sheet of loose leaf paper and set both on the desk in front of him. Blythe clutched the paper with his left hand as his right scrawled a message across it. His eyes still never once left their fixation on the wall in front, not even to spare a glance down at his handiwork.

The instant he finished writing, the inmate stood to his feet and stalked zombie-like back to the centre of his cell. He continued to gape emptily as he lifted the pen to his jugular, and then jabbed the point into the flesh of his neck, over and over. The spurts of blood came hot and fast as he choked and stabbed and frothed, and finally fell twitching to the ground in a pool of his own dark fluids.

Several moments later, a prison guard would come across the horrific scene and discover the last written words of Harold Blythe, lying where he’d left it on the desk. It was entirely baffling and unlike any suicide note any inmate had ever left before, depicting only the following:

The numbers _(00)_ in brackets.  
The sentence: _“Contact detective L immediately. Others are going to die.”_  
It was signed with a large capital letter _“B”_ in gothic font.

The guard showed it to the head warden, who successfully reached Watari on his cell phone by 7:05 a.m.

Watari had also received an email alert on his cell phone at 6:47 a.m. It was addressed to the Wammy's House administration account, and sent from an anonymous address through an encrypted TOR service, making the sender untraceable.  
  
The email said exactly this:

-

_Harold Blythe, the prolific serial killer. Your latest in an astounding number of criminals successfully convicted and incarcerated. Well, I don't think he will be missed by very many, at least._

_Now that I have your attention, care to play a little game with me, L? You must be confused, but no time for explanations yet. You and I are going to take a little trip down memory lane first. A little chance to get caught up on old times, shall we say. We'll start at the beginning, and work our way back full-circle._

_Sound like fun? Your second clue-bearer should be joining in at precisely_ _ 7:00 a.m_ _. your time.  
-_

Upon reading the email and being debriefed over the phone about the strange suicide and even stranger suicide note, Watari contacted L immediately.

\--

**Pelican Bay State Prison  
Crescent City, California**

**7:00 a.m. (GMT)**

Meanwhile, halfway across the world and a full five minutes before Belmarsh Prison was able to contact Watari, an inmate by the name of Victor Crudup had stood abruptly from his place at the prison cafeteria table, leaving his food tray barely touched. He snatched up a cup of pudding before he left and stalked with a clear purpose out the swinging double doors and back into his cell.

The inmate peeled off the lid off the pudding cup and dipped two fingers into the thick brown custard. He swiped the number "81" on the wall high above his head, like some sort of strange graffiti artist. 

Crudup then quickly set about fashioning a noose out of the single bed sheet of his bunk. He knotted it about a pipe in the ceiling and slid the noose around his neck, standing on the bed. His glazed eyes registered no emotion as he adjusted the makeshift rope one last time and then leapt into the middle of the room. It took no longer than a minute to completely asphyxiate.  
  
At the same moment, Watari's cell received another email alert from the untraceable address.

This one stated:

_**-** _

_**January 20, 1998:** _ _The day you captured Victor Crudup, culprit behind the California Cheerleader Massacre. At that point you couldn't have been much older than I am now, sir. I admit it's impressive._

_Coincidentally, January 20, 1998 is also the very day I arrived at Wammy's for my own chance at your esteemed title._

_I hardly expect you to recall this, of course. We both know what a busy, busy man you are. Far too important for the likes of returning home simply to welcome a new potential successor, regardless of whether or not he is about to dedicate his entire existence to you. Am I right?_

_No matter. Let's continue on down memory lane, shall we? Your third clue-bearer should be lending his life to the cause by_ _ 7:13 a.m_ _._

_I wonder just how long it's going to take you to catch up with me. Not that there is much you can do about this one way or the other, that is. But I can't help but be very curious as to whether that magnificent mind of yours is still as sharp as it always was. I guess we'll have to wait and see._

_-_

Crudup's dangling corpse had not yet been discovered when the head warden of Pelican Bay Prison received a bewildering phone call from the electronically-altered voice of L. This call was made to him at precisely 7:17 a.m., and the mysterious detective demanded that the warden have a high-profile inmate by the name of Victor Crudup looked in on immediately.

Upon checking up on the freshly deceased prisoner, the number written on the wall was photographed and sent at once to L.

L thanked the warden and advised him to keep the situation entirely under wraps for the time being, before hanging up again with no further explanation. 

**\--**

**Mount Gambier Maximum Security Prison  
Mount Gambier, Australia**

**7:13 a.m. (GMT)**

Several minutes prior to L's phone call to California, there was a similar baffling situation involving a third victim taking place far across the globe.

An Australian convict by the name of Damien Wadsworth had been using the restroom at the time of his own bizarre demise. He was witnessed by a few other inmates and a guard to have lunged and cracked his own skull wide open on the edge of a sink. It created a frenzy of confusion amongst prisoners and officials alike.

The guards pried a message from his cold, dead hands. It was simply the number “3” scribbled on a stretch of brittle toilet paper.  
  
The email Watari received simultaneously stated:

-

_Ah yes, the case of the Australian Anthrax Threat._

_Solving this one was your major skyrocket to fame, was it not? L pretty much became an international household name after the successful capture of the notorious Damien Wadsworth, this wannabe maker of biological weaponry, on_ _**June 5, 1998**_ _._

_Or rather, I suppose I should say L became a household alias._

_I remember it being a happy day indeed when you captured him, as you then had the chance to fly back home and finally meet me for the very first time._

_I was so excited, I could hardly sleep the night before your limo pulled up. I had just solved a complex practice case all on my own, much faster even than A. I couldn't wait to show it to you. Do you remember me proudly handing it to you when we first met?_

_Or rather, do you remember tossing it aside with hardly a glance? Do you remember locking yourself in your room until it was time for you to leave again?_

_Our very first encounter left much to be desired. It's a very depressing memory, and I'd rather not dwell on it any longer myself. So let's move on again to something a little more pleasant to reminisce about._

_Your fourth clue-bearer will be ready and waiting for you by_ _ 7:26 a.m. _

_Caught up with me yet, sir?_

_-_

The commotion in the Australian prison was interrupted at exactly 7:24 a.m. by a phone call from L himself. The warden was perplexed, but obediently filled him in on the situation and on the number the prisoner had written on his note. L thanked the Australian official and promised to provide a better explanation at a later time before promptly hanging up. 

\--

**Ittre Prison  
Brussels, Belgium**

**7:26 a.m. (GMT)**

A mere two minutes after L made his urgent call to the Australian Prison, yet another past incarceration of his was meeting their untimely demise in the courtyards of a Belgian prison.

Guillaume Dubois, an ex-Catholic Priest and convicted pedophile, had been seated at one of the outdoor benches and reading his battered copy of the Old Testament while enjoying his small dose of sunshine for the day.

However, the moment the clock had struck 7:26 a.m. GMT, Dubois's eyes glazed over. He tore the front cover off his Bible and pulled out the pencil he'd been using to underline his favourite passages. He scribbled the number “39” on the torn cover before setting it on the seat next to him and staring motionless into space, hands folded on his lap.

Almost as if on cue, a wasp flitted down, landed on the prisoner's neck, and stabbed its little stinger viciously into his jugular. Deathly allergic to wasps, Dubois died very quickly of a severe anaphylactic reaction.

The email L received at 7:26 a.m., while still on the phone with the Australian warden, said this:

-

_**January 7, 2000.** The day you put this particularly disgusting man, Guillaume Dubois, behind bars. And after a year and a half of total absence, Watari finally brought you back to visit again for a couple of days._

_You and I had breakfast together on this occasion. That was the second time I ever saw you in person. No other children were around, and I was shocked to find I suddenly had you all to myself._

_We had a trivial little discussion revolving around the breakfast food or some sort of nonsense like that. You were endearingly awkward about the whole thing, actually. It made me like you much better than our previous encounter._ _Do you remember spreading the jam on my toast for me that morning? It remains the nicest you've ever been to me to date._

_Well, as much as I'd love to mull over that lovely little moment between us some more, we simply have to keep moving if we are to get to the end of this game on schedule._

_Our fifth playmate should be finished their clue-bearing duties by_ _ 7:39 a.m. _

_-_

L had nearly caught up by the time he made his phone call to the warden of Ittre Prison at 7:33 a.m., with a mere six minutes to spare before the next prisoner's demise.

However, this particular warden was absolutely suspicious regarding L's inexplicable knowledge of the recent accidental death of one of his past incarcerations. It took L the better part of his precious few minutes to persuade the official to finally relay the number the prisoner had written on his Bible to him.

L received the number at 7:40 a.m., and as the 7:39 a.m. email popped up, he knew it was already a moment too late to prevent the next inmate's death. He gave the same promises and warnings to the warden as he had to the others, and moved on to gather the next clue.

Hopefully, at the very least, he could catch the next prisoner in the predicted act of committing suicide.

\-- 

**Novara Prison  
Piedmont, Italy**

**7:39 a.m. (GMT)**

The fifth victim turned out to be a Sicilian mobster by the name of Raffael Pelosi.

He had been typing his memoirs in the well-monitored prison computer lab at the time of his demise. As soon as the clock struck 7:39 a.m. in L's time zone, the convict ceased composing mid-sentence and typed the number “8” on the page. The instant he finished Pelosi suffered a brain aneurysm and fell to the floor, stone cold dead.

The guards alerted the warden, and the warden described the disturbing scene over the phone to L, reciting the final number tacked onto the end of the unfinished memoirs.

L added the “8” from Pelosi to the string of other numbers, and moved on to checking Watari's email.

The 7:39 a.m. email said:

_-_

_**July 26, 2001.** This month was a hectic one for you, wasn’t it? Solved a dozen huge cases in the span of three weeks. _

_Whatever happened to that incredible speed you used to possess? I hope you’re not letting yourself get soft in your old age._

_I especially remember how much rejoicing there was when this infamous gangster, Raffael Pelosi, was finally put behind bars by you for his many transgressions._

_Back home I experienced a personal success that season as well, sir. It was the summer I surpassed A academically and sat at the top of the heap for a spell, though likely that is of very little significance to you._

_July of 2001 was the month Near arrived at Wammy's, as well. You actually made a video call to welcome him on his first day. Granted, there was no image feed from your end and you left the voice scrambler on, but it is a great deal more than you ever did for me on my first day._

_Maybe that rapid streak of professional successes left you in an unusually generous mood? I highly doubt it was a sign of anything more compassionate than that. I tried to converse with you afterwards as well, but you disconnected your feed without a word._

_Your sixth clue-bearer should be making their contribution at 7:52 a.m. on the dot._

_-_

_7:44 a.m. (GMT) _

L assigned Watari the daunting task of smoothing over the ruffled feathers of all previously contacted officials.

He worried a thumbnail and scrolled hastily through the solved case database provided to successors, thinking hard. He had less than eight minutes to decide upon the most likely choice for the next future victim.

Well, there were two things he knew for certain.

One: that they would be an incarcerated criminal he had captured sometime after Raffael Pelosi. That meant any time from July 26, 2001 until the present.

Two: that the date of the victim's arrest, conviction or incarceration would likely coincide with some significant moment he'd once shared with B.

Not that he had previously believed there to be _any_ , in all honesty. Apparently such trivial interactions stuck in B's mind much longer and more vividly than his, however.

"Watari!" L snapped, whirling around in his seat.

"Yes?" The old man covered the mouthpiece of his phone, still in heated conversation with one of the many perplexed wardens.

"When exactly were the dates of any visits I paid to Wammy's in the past two years?"

Watari mopped his pale brow with a handkerchief. "Well, we haven't often had the chance to return here for a visit, so it shouldn't be that difficult to remember. There was the time we returned for a brief vacation last Christmas-- oh, but we visited twice before that. The first time, you'd just solved that Colombian case. It was the spring of 2002, April or May I believe--"  
  
“Yes, thank you, I remember now,” L muttered, scrolling to the April 2002 cases and clicking on one particular swarthy mugshot.

There he had it, then. The next criminal scheduled to die was likely going to be Mario Cardona, the notorious Colombian drug lord.

L immediately set about contacting the prison currently holding Cardona.

\-- 

**La Picota Prison  
Bogota, Colombia**

7:45 a.m. (GMT)

L reached the head warden of La Picota Prison with seven minutes to spare. Luckily, he was on rather good terms with this particular official, and the warden was immediately willing to follow his urgent instructions.

"This is a dire situation, Warden Moreno," snapped the detective's electronic voice in a faintly accented Spanish. "I have neither the means nor the time to explain, but you must believe me when I tell you that I have been informed from a very reliable source that the inmate Mario Cardona is planning to commit suicide in less than ten minutes. We have no time to lose.  

What I need you to do for me immediately is this: Forcefully take Cardona into the custody of your sturdiest guards, and place him in a padded cell which will provide him nothing in the way of potentially harmful weapons. Ensure he is searched thoroughly for any such objects, as well. You must put him in this enclosure post-haste. Lastly, set up a live video feed of the proceedings so that I may watch them for myself."

The warden was flummoxed by the bizarre requests. However, L had proven a trustworthy ally the previous year upon removing Cardona from the streets and delivering him right to his prison door, and he certainly would not be the one to break that tie with the invaluable detective now.

Warden Moreno loyally and rapidly carried out everything L commanded, completing the tasks with only a mere handful of seconds to spare.

7:51 a.m. (GMT) **  
**  
Back in Winchester, L stared intently at the grainy webcam feed on his monitor. He had a thumb clenched between his teeth almost hard enough to be drawing blood, beads of sweat forming faint glistening trails down his temples and the bridge of his nose. His eyes strayed to the little clock at the bottom corner of his monitor.

_Twelve seconds, and counting._

The Colombian convict was now pacing furiously in the padded cell, screaming obscenities and demanding to be given an explanation for the sudden bewildering treatment.

_Six seconds, and counting._

Warden Moreno stood by on the phone, watching from the corner of the padded cell. Three burly guards waited at the door, ready to act upon an instant's notice.

_Three seconds, and counting._

_This is it, B. You're going to show me how you do it now._

L leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the monitor. A tiny trickle of thumb blood really did slide from between his lips at that point.

**7:52 a.m. (GMT)**

L watched with morbid fascination as the criminal stopped his frenzied pacing, precisely as though running into an invisible brick wall. Even from the fuzzy feed of the video, L could clearly make out the convict's facial expression change from one of utmost fury, to a blank and stupefied gape.

Cardona opened his mouth wide as though to speak... and then viciously gnashed down on his own tongue with all his might, nearly cleaving it in half. A thick spurt of blood shot across the cell and painted the far wall with a streak of the darkest arterial crimson.

L was barking out commands to the astonished warden immediately. "Get those guards over there now, Warden! Have the wound stemmed, and have him restrained. you must not let him bleed to death!"

The guards were already charging to apprehend the injured inmate. He crammed one hand into his bleeding mouth and then threw himself to the nearest wall, attempting to scrawl out a message on the padding using his fingers and blood alone.

L watched as the guards wrestled the man away from the wall. He put up a raging fight, but the brawny security officials finally succeeded in wrenching his arms behind his back and shoving him harshly to his knees. One of the guards stuffed a gag in his mouth, both to prevent any more biting and to cease the flow of blood from his gaping oral wound. "What do you want us to do with him now, sir?" he huffed.

"We will wait for L's instruction, that's what!" The warden sounded to be almost on the verge of pulling out his entire head of hair.

"Dress his wound and find him a proper straitjacket, Moreno,” L urged. “As you've already seen for yourselves, he will apparently try anything in his power to end his own life at this point, and it is imperative he remain alive. I will need to take Cardona in for questioning as soon as--"

L's voice trailed off as he watched the colour in the struggling inmate's face suddenly transform from a pale brown to a mottled purple. Cardona's eyes bulged furiously from his head, and loud moans burst forth from behind the sopping crimson gag in his mouth, almost unearthly in their pain.

"Warden Moreno, something is happening to the prisoner!" L snapped desperately.

The warden was shouting incoherent orders, and the guards attempted to remove the gag again, but Cardona had already gone limp in their arms. He twitched violently once or twice before collapsing, his eyes already glassing over with the unseeing gaze of the dead.

"What happened to him, you imbeciles?” the panicked warden bellowed. “You were told to dress his wounds, not suffocate him in his own blood!”

"That was no fault of theirs, Moreno," L interrupted hastily. "The inmate did not choke to death at all. Those appeared to be the unmistakable signs of suffering a massive heart attack, and I'm sure an autopsy would confirm that. There was nothing they could've done to prevent it."

7:55 a.m. (GMT)

L abruptly disconnected from the Colombian prison without providing any further explanation, and sat back in his chair to wrap his arms tightly around his knees. His mind was racing feverishly to discern the next best course of action.

The inmate had been trying to write another number on the wall. He'd been restrained, and died before he had the chance to write it. By interfering, L had just inadvertently sabotaged his only chance to receive the next cryptic clue in this sick and twisted game.  
  
Well, nothing to be done about it now. He simply had to keep moving, had to keep trying to prevent yet another death.  
  
L added a blank onto the list of numbers he'd been jotting down, and forced himself to open the next email:

-

 ** _April 16, 2002._ ** _It_ _was actually the very same night you had Mario Cardona convicted that I discovered my nocturnal trick with the roof and windows. I thought I might use it to check in on_ _you_ _, but sadly you insisted on staying in a hotel during this particularly short visit. You can imagine my disappointment when our paths didn't cross even once._

_I kept the trick to myself and practised it diligently, and no one ever caught me. You ought to be flattered that I chose to reveal my secret to you alone this past month. And it made for some priceless bonding moments in the end, did it not?_

_Almost there, L. Next clue will be provided at 8:05 a.m._

-

\-- 

**Draguignan Prison  
Draguignan, France**

8:02 a.m. (GMT)

L ordered the confinement of this next prisoner, Madame Genevieve Vibbard, with a somewhat different approach.

Firstly, he had her rapidly strip-searched and placed in a room with absolutely no obvious weapons to be had and a live webcam feed, just like last time.

Secondly, however, he had the warden provide her with a pad of paper and a pencil. He also had several of the guards standing directly beside her in the cell, ready and waiting with a straitjacket.

L was now calmly addressing the incredulous French officials from the speakers of the warden's laptop.

"If things go according to my predictions, in less than another three minutes, this inmate should be overcome with the urge to write a number on her paper. It will be meaningless to anyone save myself. She will then attempt to do anything in her power to commit suicide. At the precise moment she finishes writing the number, it will be the duty of the guards to restrain her and prevent this from ever happening. It is imperative her life is kept in tact. Please be ready to gag her, as well. She may attempt to stab her major arteries with the pencil, or even bite through her own tongue."

The warden stared back at the L on the screen with absolute disbelief. "Right. How the hell would you even know such a thing is going to happen, eh? What is this, some kind of conspiracy?"

L's detached electronic response came immediately. "I am well aware it is a fantastical and highly suspicious claim for me to make, Warden Mercier. But I am afraid I have no choice but to simply insist you trust me on this until you see it for yourself. The most I can tell you at the moment is that I've been receiving letters from an anonymous source informing me when each of these inmates' deaths are taking place, and I have no choice but to follow each one of them through in the hopes of preventing them."

The warden shook his head with utter disbelief, and turned back to peer at Genevieve Vibbard. She stared around at the surrounding guards, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, the pencil and paper clutched in her trembling hands. "She most certainly does not look as though she knows all these things she is about to do, L," the warden muttered dryly.

"No, Warden Mercier. But that will change momentarily. They don't seem to be in their right minds, nor to have any control of themselves whenever the suicidal urge strikes. Now if you will excuse me, there are a mere few seconds left until the clock strikes 8:05, and I must be fully focused in order to watch the proceedings."

**8:05 a.m. (GMT)**

Just as L predicted, the instant the clock struck the designated time, Vibbard's frightened expression slid into a dazed look of total apathy. She brought the pencil to the paper and started scratching a large number “5”, looking for all the world like a marionette being animated by some unseen puppeteer. It was absolutely eerie to behold. The guards exchanged bewildered looks.

L could not tear his eyes away from the screen, even when bending forward to better address the small microphone on his desk. "Warden Mercier, please have your men prepared to render her immobile the moment she ceases writing."

The instant Vibbard's pencil fell from her fingers the guards pounced, easily shoving both her arms into the sleeves of the jacket, and swiftly wrapping a gag between her jaws to prevent any fatal gnashing of teeth on tongue. All their precautions were rendered quickly useless, however, when the inmate began writhing in obvious internal pain, muffled cries of agony ripping forth from barricaded lips.

L could hardly believe his eyes.

_So it really was true._

The instant they made a move to apprehend her from committing any violence toward herself, Vibbard had promptly died of a heart attack. Just as Cardona had a mere few minutes before. As though these criminals were fated to die no matter what -- if not by their own hand, then by the fatal rebellion of their own body.

L sighed and interrupted the furious ramblings of the warden, who was absolutely beside himself now. "Warden Mercier, there was nothing more we could do for her. It has happened before, and I had a feeling this would happen, no matter how many precautions were taken to keep her alive."  
  
L added the “5” to his string of numbers and disconnected from the French prison.

The email sent to L at 8:05 a.m. read:

-

_You got a ton of press and accolades for getting this feisty female, Genevieve Vibbard, put in the slammer for life, didn’t you? And yet somehow, Watari was still able to find the time for you to spend a couple of nights back home with us afterward._

_That visit on_ _**August 29, 2002,** _ _was the third time we ever crossed paths in person. I remember following you all over the building, trying desperately to engage you in a conversation, but you wouldn't give me the time of day. You actually had the headmaster provide me with a slew of menial tasks just to keep me out of your hair for the visit._

_Am I really that repulsive to be around?_

_I'm guessing it was the makeup. You were obviously very put-off by the way I’d started painting my face to better imitate yours, and I must admit I found that pretty amusing._

_We're getting close to the end, now. But there are a couple more memories I'd like to refresh for you first. The next clue comes at_ _ 8:18 a.m._ _, though I'm sure you could have guessed that by now._

_-_

\-- 

**Pfäffikon Prison  
Zurich, Switzerland**

8:16 a.m. (GMT)

B's eighth victim chosen was Theodore Donders of Switzerland. L made initial contact with the head wardenwith nearly eleven minutes to spare. He was granted permission to speak directly to the prisoner himself this time, a desperate last-ditch attempt to gain some clarity on the nightmarish situation.

Donders had been given a paper and pencil, and then a headset through which he could communicate directly with the detective. Two menacing prison guards stood over him to ensure his complete cooperation.

"Theodore Donders, this is L speaking,” L began immediately, switching to German. “There is an urgent situation at hand which I need to discuss with you, and we have less than a couple of minutes to do so."

The prisoner's derisive voice came crackling through L's speakers a moment later. "Why on earth should you want anything to do with me anymore, L? You put me behind bars nearly a year ago. I've been rotting away here this whole time. There's absolutely nothing new to say."

"That is not why I am contacting you, Donders. Please listen carefully and answer the following questions quickly and truthfully, we have less than a minute remaining. First of all, are you currently aware of, or involved in any way, with a person potentially going by the alias B?"

Donders snorted into the microphone. "What? No, I can't say that I am."

"Very well, next question. Are you aware of the fact that someone going by that very title has already pegged you to both deliver a personal message of theirs, and then commit suicide in the next couple of moments?"

"Am I... Am I what?" the inmate spluttered. "What... What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"There is no time to explain, Donders, you have but mere seconds to respond. Please answer truthfully."

The prisoner's bitter reply came an instant later. "Well, no, of course I'm not. I have no idea what the hell kind of sick joke this is, but--"

Donders' voice trailed off abruptly, and L's eyes reluctantly slid to the dreaded clock at the bottom of his monitor.

It was already too late.

**8:18 a.m. (GMT)**

L insisted that the guards allow the doomed prisoner to write out his final parting clue on the paper before restraining him. Donders scrawled a “2” on the paper, and then, just as the previous two inmates before him, he struggled briefly against his restraints before promptly dying of a heart attack.

L copied down the number, promised the officials a far more satisfactory explanation in the near future when he had more time to spare, and then hung up the phone.

The 8:18 a.m. email stated:

-

 _**December 24, 2002.** _ _Last Christmas was the year you solved that so widely publicized case -- the merry troop of Santa Claus impersonators who'd been robbing banks all over Switzerland. Theodore Donders was the jolly old ringleader, wasn't he?_

_That Christmas Eve also marks the fourth time you and I ever met in person, L. I remember how you spoke to me exactly twice that visit._

_First, to demand I leave the library so you could read your book in peace._

_Second, to insist I never touch you again. That is, after I had suddenly hopped up and pinned you in your favourite armchair instead, just for kicks. It was a great deal of fun getting you all riled up, I must admit._

_Do you remember how you squirmed and growled and threatened me? And then how you violently kicked me off the chair? I certainly do. I had quite the impressive bruise on my stomach for a while after that._

_Actually, it was then I realized just how much more rewarding it was to simply demand your attention, rather than wait around in vain for it._

_So tell me, L. How am I doing so far in that department?_

_We're nearing the end of the game, now. Your ninth and final playmate will be providing your clue at precisely_ _ 8:31 a.m. _

_-_

\-- 

**Baffin Correctional Centre  
Iqaluit, Nunavut**

**8:31 a.m. (GMT)**

L predicted the next victim not based on a personal interaction with B -- as far as he remembered, there were no others to speak of -- but based on another significant event at Wammy's that he suspected the boy would be eager to remind him of, nonetheless.

The final clue from B was delivered using the sacrificial blood of one of the most heinous individuals L ever had the pleasure of locking up for life. This criminal scrawled a number “7” on the paper and then died, suffering a massive heart attack in his restraints, just like the others.

L added the “7” to the list of numbers and then opened the next email, which said:

-

 _You had Cobar Sutton, the Baffin Bay Baby Butcher (delightful nickname, don't you agree?), convicted this past year on_ _**September 16, 2003.** _ _This capture of yours presumably saved dozens of innocent young future victims from violent and horrific demises._

_Ironically, however, a young boy back in Winchester was slitting his wrists the very same day while thinking only of you._

_Funny old world, isn’t it? I’m sure I wasn’t the only one disappointed to see you somehow justified skipping out on A's funeral altogether._  
  
_However, this is no time for funereal discussions. We should instead be celebrating! The fact that you’ve made it to this point shows me that I’ve finally captured your undivided attention, and that truly means a lot to me._

_I hope the numerical clues I've left are put to good use now. If you really are as clever as you seem, I doubt it will take you much longer._

_I eagerly await your next move. I can't wait to fill you in on what's going to happen next._

_-_

So that was the last of the prisoners, and the last of the clues.

L stared down at the numbers he'd copied from each prisoner's note. He suckled his bloody thumbnail and thought very hard. Some prisoners had left one digit numbers, some two. He counted the numbers, counted them again, mulled it over some more. The fact that only the first number given was in brackets had to be significant, surely...

(00)-81-3...

His head snapped up again after a moment, eyes huge.

_It was a phone number._

A phone number, complete with international area codes. He would be calling Tokyo Japan, by the looks of the first digits. Now he just had to determine the missing number in the middle, a consequence of restraining the one inmate before he could deliver his clue.

L used an auto-dialling software on his laptop to call each possible number combination in quick succession, disconnecting immediately as they proved dead ends or wrong numbers.

On the fifth try, he found exactly what he was looking for. An answering machine picked up on the first ring, and a recording of B's all-too-familiar voice came crackling cheerfully over the speakers:  
  
_“Congratulations, sir! You finally made it to the end of our first little game. It's very exciting to know you're so keen to play along._  
  
_So L, here’s the deal._

_I’m sure you have many burning questions for me at this point. That’s perfectly understandable, and I'm actually dying to have a candid chat with you, as well. It's been far too long since I've heard your charming snarls and empty threats for myself, and I've grown to miss them._

_Sadly, I also know I'm going to be in a bit of serious trouble with you from this point on. And that puts a damper on any possible plans to meet up in person, doesn’t it? After all, there’s just so much still in store for you, and I couldn’t possibly let you cut the fun short yet._

_Luckily I have come up with the perfect solution for us both to get around this sticky situation. So please make careful note of the following instructions, sir:_

_You will make your way to Japan._

_By the morning of November 7th -- that  is, two days from now-- you'd better be checked into room 313 at the Hotel Metropolitan Tokyo Ikebukuro. I know how particular you are about your comforts, so I made sure to reserve a very nice spot for you. You may send in your team ahead of time to investigate it, but I can assure you it will be quite safe._

_I will be calling you there on that day, to make sure you've arrived. The phone will ring at precisely 1:13 p.m., and I fully expect you to answer it with your real, unaltered voice._

_If not, no matter. I will simply blame it on a delayed flight, kill Near, and try again at precisely 4:04 p.m._

_If you do not respond then, I will assume you slept through your morning alarm, take that as a cue to kill Mello, and try back again at 1:13 a.m._

_And so on, and so forth._

_After all, there is no sense crying over the split blood of one of the many expendable prodigies, am I right? I couldn't have learned that lesson better from anyone but you._

_I hope you understand that we are going to be playing by my rules, and my rules alone. I'm not bluffing in the slightest. My actions today should be quite enough proof of that. But please, be my guest and risk it if you still have any doubt._

_In the end, all I ask is that you remember this: the fate of the entire population of Wammy's now rests on your obedient participation in this game of mine._

_So humour me for now, sir. This should definitely prove the most fascinating case of your entire career to date, after all.”_

 

The recorded message ended with a click, and L hung up without uttering a single word.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, B. Way to go and get all suddenly ambitious on me...
> 
> Anyhoo, I hope this chapter didn't confuse the crap out of anyone. I tried my best to keep it coherent, but I know it's a bit complicated with all the various different overlapping times and perspectives and whatnot. Basically though, just reading the italicized messages from B is the most important thing. The rest of the stuff is mostly the fun little gory details, haha.
> 
> Hopefully it's becoming a bit more clear how Light might be fitting into the picture soon, too. Can't wait to get all that stuff going, shouldn't be too long now...
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Buddy

(two days earlier)  
  
-

** November 3, 2003 **

-  
  
"I beg your pardon sir, but the complementary nuts are for eating, not smashing to smithereens. We're getting noise complaints."

B paused in his mindless pulverizing of the snack to gaze up at the flight attendant. _Ramona Knott_ was the name floating above her head. Judging by all the hard looks, neither she nor the surrounding passengers were amused by his disruptive antics in the slightest.

B chewed a thumbnail and stared down at the mess on his tray. "Is that so, miss? I figured that the very fact these peanuts were offered as ‘complementary' meant I would be free to do as I so pleased with them. You see, I've never been on a public airplane such as this before, and proper etiquette simply eludes me at times. My sincerest apologies."

B was being completely serious, but the stewardess seemed to think he was trying to be a wise guy of sorts, as she offered an acidic smile in return and bent forward to sweep up the nut pulp with her napkin.

She halted in surprise as B held up a hand to keep her at bay and proclaimed much too loudly, "Oh please, miss, I insist. Allow me to atone for my transgressions!" He scooped up the pile of peanut crumbs and crammed it into his mouth, chewing vigorously and nodding with exaggerated approval, wide eyes still boring into hers. The other passengers stared even more, a few snickering derisively at the awkward little scene.

The flight attendant blushed and began backing away. "Uh, really. That's quite alright, sir. We'd just appreciate it if you kept the noise and the mess to a minimum. This is a rather long flight we're all in for, after all." She forced a smile that more closely resembled a grimace and moved back to the front cabin, shaking her head and wearing an expression something like "W _hy do I always get all the weirdos on my shifts?"_

B continued chewing the nut pulp dutifully until the woman disappeared through the dividing curtain. As soon as she was gone, he grabbed the air-sickness bag in front of him and spat the mouthful into it noisily, getting even more disapproving mutters and raised eyebrows from the surrounding passengers.

Ryuk chuckled from where he sat in the empty window seat beside B, enormous bony shoulders shaking. "Hyuk hyuk. You think you could possibly get any more unpopular around here, B? We've been sitting here for less than an hour, and you're already getting some pretty sour looks. Maybe you should try to be a little less, uh... noticeable, don't ya think?"

" _Plehh_! I can't help it, Ryuk," B hissed under his breath, crumpling the bag and shoving it back into the pocket of the seat. "I'm hopelessly bored, and this airplane food is just atrocious."

"Well, that food's probably a hundred times better than anything you'd ever be given in the Shinigami Realm. Most everything tastes like sand or soot up there. You human beings are really spoiled creatures in a lot of ways, you know that?"

"Clearly, Ryuk, you have never been subjected to the earthly horror that is salted peanuts." B wished for all the world that he'd been allowed to bring food with him in his luggage. What he wouldn't give for a little dab of strawberry jam right now... "And besides, I honestly couldn't care less what this particularly drab lot of humanity thinks about me. Self-consciousness has never really been my forte, shall we say.”

Ryuk shook his head and chuckled good-naturedly again. "Well, I sure can't argue with you about _that_ , I guess.”

B eyed the other nearby passengers with an idle disdain. 

_So boring, the lot of them. So plain._

Most were already settling in for the rest of the long flight -- snapping on their sleep-masks, nestling against their paper-thin pillows, and plugging in the cheap headphones to listen to their high-altitude schmaltz for the next twelve hours or so. B read his way through the names and numbers automatically, as he he'd always done.

B saw that _Robert Owens_ , the dishevelled businessman across the aisle, was burying his face in his magazine and slouching in his seat, looking for all the world as though he was trying to escape into the pages. _Probably attempting to ignore the rather strange-looking individual sitting next to him that's been making such a ruckus and talking to himself intermittently_ , he mused.

It was a fairly amusing thought. Making other people uncomfortable had always just plain tickled his funny bone. He wondered idly what sort of priceless expression the man would wear if he were to lean across the aisle and casually murmur to him that _oh, by the way Robert Owens, did you know you have less than three months left to live?_ B hunched down in his chair even further, burying his giggles in his knees.

“Still, you might want to keep it down, considering you're supposedly gonna be a wanted criminal pretty soon and all," Ryuk added nonchalantly.

B ceased chuckling immediately at that, his head snapping upright. His eyes, however, still gleamed of pure delight. "You know, you're absolutely right Ryuk," he muttered, leaning forward to rummage through his carry-on luggage. "Thanks for reminding me." He resurfaced a moment later clutching his ragged red journal and a pen and began rifling through the pages.

The first half of the book was still his personal journal entries -- the last half, however, was now the Death Note, carefully slotted in via a hand-sewn slip of fabric on the back cover’s interior.

Ryuk groaned upon seeing the red book emerge. "Oh, great. You're so _boring_ when you get in your little writing moods, B. I'm not gonna have anything to do for ages now."

"Don't worry, Ryuk, I'm just checking things over," B whispered rather absently.

“Still boring,” Ryuk grumbled.

“Look, if you're that starved for entertainment, why don’t you fly up to the observation portal and take a peek at Wammy's for a while?” B hissed, thumbing the pages. “I’m sure there’s plenty of drama going on over there these days, thanks to us.”

Ryuk rustled his wings a little and scratched his head, mulling it over. “Hmmm. That’s a lot of work, ya know. It’s no walk in the park flying back and forth between the realms like that, let me tell ya. But… ahh, what the heck. Should prove to be a lot more interesting than staring at the clouds for hours on end, anyway.” He slid off the seat with a pronounced grunt and slipped through the side of the aircraft as though it were nothing more than thin air.

\--

B smirked and flipped to the Death Note section, skimming his past week's work:

There were the first few clumsy trial runs, of course. Anonymous nobodies, vagrants and addicts. Nothing much connecting them to each other or to him, he was sure. All of the names were scribbled feverishly while he skulked around London that first night after fleeing Wammy's, homeless and angry, looking for some sort of release.

B had nearly succumbed to a heart attack himself when he found the morbid little notebook actually _worked_. It was like something out of a surreal dream to witness those first targets dropping dead a handful of seconds later. B had inspected the cooling corpses up close and personal with utter fascination.

It was then that B had abruptly made the connection between the perplexing numbers and the amount of time each person had left alive, for the very first time in his eighteen years of life. The chain of numbers floating above their heads -- each one unfailingly dropped to a long string of zeros the moment the victim keeled over.

Ryuk came to meet B later that first night, too; found him shivering with shock and exhilaration under the blankets of a seedy motel’s bed.

Yes, B's first night as a liberated adult had been quite the evening of incredible revelations, to say the least. He sometimes wondered how on earth he’d kept his wits about him through it all. Certainly not every day so many fantastical life-changing events took place for one single person, and left them with their sanity still fully in tact.

But then again, B wasn’t exactly like everyone else in most ways, and his particular version of sanity was not entirely conventional to begin with. So he figured he could chalk it up to his own unique brand of mental strength.

\--

It took B very little time to decide on a plan of action after that, and he got right down to business immediately. He got more specific with the next target, thanks to two of the rules Ryuk had so helpfully scrawled on the inside cover of the Death Note:

_“If the cause of death is written within forty seconds of the subject’s name, it will happen.”_

And: _“After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.”_

The next entry was made on October 31st. _Roger Ruvie_ would destroy all archived evidence of Beyond Birthday’s past before committing suicide using fuel and fire. A rather grisly death, to be certain, decidedly more violent than the first few. But B had felt it necessary in order to spark L’s suspicion all the more.

And, truth be told, he just plain old didn’t like Roger. At all.

B couldn’t wait to hear L’s thoughts on the headmaster’s death. It was one of the things he was most anticipating about the impending phone call.

And now, this latest endeavour was going to up the ante for L even more. And oh, it had been immensely fun to concoct!

B nibbled his pen and skimmed eagerly over the latest list of future targets, all fated to meet their demise on the morning of November the fifth:

-

 _Harold Blythe_ , to write B’s first message and die by self-mutilation at 6:47 a.m.

 _Victor Crudup_ , to write B’s second message and die by asphyxiation at 7:00 a.m.

 _Damien Wadsworth_ , to write B’s third message and die by severe head trauma at 7:13 a.m.

 _Guillaume Dubois_ , to write B’s fourth message and die by a wild animal attack at 7:26 a.m.

 _Raffael Pelosi_ , to write B’s fifth message and die by a pre-existing medical problem at 7:39 a.m.

 _Mario Cardona_ , to write B’s sixth message and die by drowning at 7:52 a.m.

 _Genevieve Vibbard_ , to write B’s seventh message and die in an automobile accident at 8:05 a.m.

 _Theodore Donders_ , to write B’s eighth message and die by falling from a fatal height at 8:18 a.m.

 _Cobar Sutton_ , to write B’s final message and die by fatal poisoning at 8:31 a.m.

-

B chose each criminal carefully, cross-checking every date with his past journal entries. He made sure they would coincide properly with all the memories he wanted to revive for his dearest L.

He’d been extra creative when experimenting with the various causes of death this time, too. If only he could watch them taking place for himself. How entertaining some of them would no doubt be!

B wondered just exactly how accurately the Death Note would follow his instructions on the various causes of death. He was entirely counting on the _“it will happen”_ promise in that regard, and he sincerely hoped Ryuk had not been mistaken when writing that part of the rule. Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder just how competent a death god the Shinigami really was, at least in comparison to the rest of them back in the other realm.

He sighed deeply and flipped back to the beginning of his journal. There was a tiny lock of hair sewn carefully to the interior of the front cover. It was black in colour, shiny, and ever so soft.

So very much like his own hair.

He stroked the little lock lovingly for a long moment, curling the strands around his fingertips and letting his mind drift back to the moment he’d managed to claim these little pieces of the detective for his very own. A small smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes and relived every lovely second of that latest interaction.

The way L had squirmed, just a little. The way his pupils dilated when B had leaned in just a tad too close for comfort. The warmth of his fevered skin. The silky wildness of his hair.

But mostly, it was the sweetest way he had shivered, when B had pressed himself so close to his idol and whispered his darkest little promise.

...True, B had been brutally beaten by an irate thirteen year old boy for it.

He ghosted a thumb over the scabs on the inner surface of his lip, where Mello’s savage left hook had made its mark many times over.

But still, it had been so very worth it. That tantalizing stolen glimpse of L’s inner vulnerability behind his frosty composure had B floating on cloud nine whenever he paused to relive it.

He sighed happily again, eyes scanning the pages crammed to the brim with his past thoughts and future plans. He paused to run his fingers along the jagged gap in the spine of the book, where he'd torn out and destroyed the handful of pages from his weeks of solitary confinement.

B had been distressed and angry then. And more than a little confused about some things. But now, in this calmer frame of mind, he found himself wishing he’d kept those pages in the diary. For the sake of nostalgia, if nothing else. Something to remind himself of the birth of his latest goals.

Oh, well. The little personal token he had sewn into the cover would substitute just fine. He lifted the journal to his nose, taking a hesitant sniff at the lock of L’s hair.

 _Ahh, yes_. So it was there, just very faintly. His eyes drifted close with a sleepy satisfaction. There was just something so intoxicating about L’s scent, somehow. A heady reminder of the fact that he _was_ a human being after all, perhaps. Not unlike the name and lifespan that B could see floating above his head at all times.

L was certainly exceptional. But he was _not_ an exception. And B planned to remind him of that soon enough.

He hugged the notebook close and let his eyes drift shut, resolving to merely rest them for a moment while he waited for Ryuk to return.

He’d hardly slept at all that past week. Life as Beyond Birthday had, as of late, been exhilarating and intense enough to keep him going tirelessly without even a measly cat nap of which to speak. It probably accounted for the way he fell unconscious practically the instant his head touched the seat. B was very determined, but he was also just plain exhausted.

\--

 _“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be touching down in Tokyo International Airport within the next twenty minutes. We are beginning our descent now, and the seatbelt sign has been illuminated to ensure your personal safety. If we could ask you to all please put your seats in the full upright position and…_ ”

B’s head jerked up at the droning announcement. He rubbed his eyes blearily, knuckles smearing the eyeliner around until he had grubby charcoal streaks trailing down both cheeks.

He whipped around to check on Ryuk. The death god was back at his side, chuckling harshly. “Finally awake, are ya? Gee, I never thought I’d see the day you actually took a moment to sleep. You’ve been going pretty much non-stop ever since I met ya.”

“Yes, you know I think sleeping is an utter waste of time,” he hissed. “So why didn’t you wake me as soon as you got back, huh Ryuk? I must’ve been out for… hours and hours.”

Ryuk nodded. “Yup, eleven hours to be precise. You practically missed the whole boring flight, ya lucky guy. I don’t really sleep myself. But you looked so peaceful there, I couldn’t be bothered to wake ya. Plus, your snoring was pretty funny. Your drooling, too.”

“I… huh?” B swiped at his mouth with a shirt cuff and then leaned in to better conspire with his invisible companion unnoticeably. “So how was Wammy's?”

“Well, it was pretty entertaining to watch, I’ll give you that."

B’s smudged face was absolutely aglow with delight upon hearing that. He let out a soft chuckle, wrapping his arms around his legs. “Oh, was it now? You have no idea how happy that makes me to hear. Describe it all in detail for me, Ryuk, please."

“First you better drop your legs and put on your seatbelt, buddy. That cranky lady’s coming this way again.”

The attendant from before was indeed making her way down the aisle, looking rather grim, and B slid his feet to the floor, narrowly missing yet another awkward interaction with the airline employee.

“So, was L panicking about things?” B whispered eagerly, snapping his seatbelt in place. “Did he suspect my hand in Roger’s death?”

Ryuk scratched his head. “Eh, L? Which one was he again?”

B shot the Shinigami an absolutely incredulous look. “You know. L. The one I’ve been plotting against all this time. The one you saw me watching? The one this whole plan is _about_.”

Ryuk appeared to be thinking very hard. “Oh, that guy. Well, sorry buddy, but I was kinda paying more attention to the crazy kids and teachers there. Hyuk hyuk, some of them were pretty hilarious! They seemed to kinda think these two little guys had something to do with it. Not a clue what was really going on, that’s for sure.”

B sighed in frustration. “You may find it funny, Ryuk, but any accidental involvement of students is a drawback. When I chose Roger for destroying my files, I really wasn’t planning on complicating matters by introducing other suspects into the scenario. The strange manner of death was supposed to be pointing L's suspicious thoughts toward _me_... certainly nobody else. I can only hope L is really clever enough to realize _they_ didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

“Yeah, well, if he’s anywhere near as smart as you seem to think he is, he’ll probably know not every kid out there is as twisted as you are, buddy."

B beamed at that. “Oh, I just love it when you say things like that, Ryuk. I hope so. And I suppose there won’t be much doubt of my hand in things after the next stage, anyway.”

“Boy, I haven't seen anyone get so hung up on someone since the likes of Gelus and that human girl he fell for, hyuk hyuk. I still don’t really get what your big obsession is all about, but whatever. All I know is this is gonna be quite a ride, by the sound of things.”

Ryuk's sentence was punctuated by the crackle of the flight attendant making another announcement over the loudspeakers, informing the passengers of their impending landing in Tokyo. B felt his heart quicken and a nervous chill spreading through his veins as he leaned to look out the window, eyes raking over the countless pinpricks of light that made up the vast urban sprawl below.

“Huh. Never really bothered to look down on Japan before. So this is where you‘re originally from, is it?” Ryuk grunted with a mild interest, turning to join the teen in his avid sightseeing.

B nodded, not sure if he would trust his voice. An unexpected lump had risen in his throat as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He really was _home_ again. Back after so many long years away. So very many memories, and hardly any of them pleasant, were flooding his brain without any warning, and B had to turn away from the window abruptly just to keep his composure. He took a deep breath and concentrated, pushed those memories away into a deep corner of his mind.

There would be no time for sentimentality or weakness at this stage in the game. He had to focus, had to remain strong and remember to simply keep his eye on the prize at all times.

“Yes, this is where I grew up, Ryuk,” B eventually managed to whisper, leaning forward to shove his feet into sneakers and repack his belongings into the carry-on bag. He slipped the journal into the front of his jacket and zipped it up tight just as the plane touched down.

\--

By the time B and Ryuk joined the bustling madness of the airport, B had finally rid himself of the strange lump in his throat.

He paused in his tracks only once to slip a hand under the collar of his shirt and yank out a golden pocket watch-- a pretty heirloom he'd snatched from a bedroom in Wammy's some time ago, though he couldn't be bothered to remember whose it had been originally.

Well then. Only 86 hours, 42 minutes, 11 seconds and counting until he would be hearing L's voice once again.

Either that, or he would be wiping another young prodigy soundly off the face of the earth. Maybe even two or three of them, if L initially proved particularly stubborn about cooperating.

B's actions following the next stage would be ultimately L's responsibility, of course. He was quite prepared to wash his hands completely of any future Wammy’s residents' deaths if he had to orchestrate them to keep his dear detective’s priorities in order. After all, L would be given plenty of fair warning in advance if he kept up with the hints well enough.

B’s heart skipped madly at the thought. He could hardly wait. It was enough to soothe his newfound nerves and bring his spirits back to soaring levels again.

“C’mon Ryuk, let’s get out of here," he tossed over his shoulder. "We’ve got to set up our hideout."

The death god floated along behind amiably, calling out, “You better not have forgotten about that bushel of apples you promised me, kiddo. A Shinigami in withdrawal is not a pretty sight, believe me.”

B smirked. “No, I didn’t forget. Let’s just get settled in first, alright?”

Ryuk grunted, apparently satisfied with that prospect for the time being.

B squared his shoulders and plunged ahead through the crushing crowds. Always a tad claustrophobic and more than a little antisocial at the best of times, he certainly had not missed this particular aspect of his homeland. But he figured he’d be here for another little while yet, and so for now he would grin and bear it.

Besides, L himself would be arriving soon as well, if everything went according to B’s plan. And thoughts like that were helping immensely to make the city feel just that much more like home again, already.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. Gotta say, creeper B is way too much fun to write. Thanks for reading! Japan fun times (hopefully) coming soon.


	9. Belts

**November 5, 2003  
  
** **-**

L spent the remainder of November the 5th with Watari and the staff, tying up all sorts of loose ends.  
  
First, Phillip was asked to take over as headmaster in Roger's place.

Second, all remaining outdated aspects of Wammy's were addressed, right down to the candles in the bureaus being replaced with flashlights. Most importantly, the librarians were tasked with transferring the entire student archives in the cellar to a virtual database. Better late than never, L figured.

Third, Wammy's House security was swiftly tripled. All doors and windows were reinforced with additional locks, the front gates manned with 24/7 armed security personnel, and hidden cameras were installed in every single room and outdoor facility.

Fourth, L convinced each one of the previously contacted prison officials to keep the inmates' deaths confidential. He used bribes, half-truths, and threats as necessary to ensure cooperation. It took a gruelling seven hours, but in the end all involved agreed to keep it out of police reports and the news while L looked into everything further for himself.

Afterwards, L went alone to the backyard court and ran drills long into the night, slamming tennis balls furiously against the nets and walls for hours until his hands were raw and his shirt drenched and his mind at last too numb to piece together yet another troublesome thought.

\--

** November 6, 2003  
**

**-  
**  
L had not slept a wink, but very early the next day he invited Mello, Matt, and Near to join him for another conversation, this time in his bedroom.

It was still dark outside when the boys shuffled blearily in, fuzzy-haired and slightly spooked and still wearing their pyjamas. They sat together quietly on the carpet in front of L's chair, Matt and Mello on one side of him, and Near on the other. 

The trio looked ridiculously innocent and childlike like this, L thought. In light of B's sinister threats, the sight of Near clutching a teddy bear felt almost like a punch to the gut. L made a point of sitting in his seat rather normally for once, thinking maybe it would set the students more at ease. He leaned down with his arms crossed over his lap as he spoke.

“Mello, Matt, Near,” he began, looking at each of them steadily in turn. “Once again, I apologize for the unusual hour at which I seek your company, but once again I have a busy day ahead of me. Yesterday proved a very strange, long, busy day as well.”

Near and Matt gazed curiously up at him, waiting for more, but Mello was staring sullenly at the floor with his arms locked around his knees.

Matt spoke first. “It sure seems like something pretty serious is going on. We thought the bars on the windows were bad enough, but now there are locks on everything, and armed guards out front, too?”  
  
L nodded solemnly. “It is unfortunate, but also a necessary precaution, in light of recent events.”  
  
Near fiddled with the arms of his teddy bear. “I assume this has something to do with that phone call you received in the library."  
  
“Shut up, Near,” Mello snapped, still glowering at the floor. “You weren't even supposed to _be_ there, and we're not allowed to ask about that, remember. It was 'none of our concern'.”

Ah, so it seemed Mello hadn't quite forgiven L yet for yesterday's little interview in the library. The detective never faulted himself for his blunt approach, but perhaps he _had_ been a tad insensitive, given the boy's recent trauma and all. It appeared a little damage control might be in order.  
  
As if on cue, Watari bustled in and began handing out gourmet donuts to the boys. The old man had an uncanny knack for sensing when a little sugar might smooth things over in a tense room, and L was very grateful for it when he saw that even Mello begrudgingly accepted a chocolate glazed one.  
  
“Thank you, Watari,” L said, lapping delicately at the rainbow sprinkles on his own. He turned back to address the boys. “It is true that I may have said some stern things to you all yesterday morning. But today is a new day, and much has happened since we last met. I would like to approach things somewhat differently from now on, if you'll allow it. I thought over what you said, Mello, and I agree that it is high time you students are not treated as though you are naïve or incapable of handling the truth.”  
  
Mello finally looked up at him for the first time, his eyes hopeful but guarded.  
  
“We're listening,” Matt said brightly around a mouthful of donut.

“Excellent,” L said. “The additional security you saw installed around Wammy's yesterday has everything to do with the phone call I received. I won't go into any specifics, but let me summarize. The call was regarding B's recent disappearance. As all of you were also witnesses to his final moments at Wammy's, I trust I don't have to describe his unstable behaviour prior to leaving, nor remind you of the rather unfriendly send-off he received at our hands.”

Mello's cheeks went pink at that, and he busied himself with licking a bit of frosting off his wrist.  
  
L accepted a cup of coffee from Watari and dunked his donut in it. “To put it simply, B resurfaced from afar yesterday and sought contact with me again,” he said. “It was made very clear that he holds a serious grudge towards me and and an ill will towards the other inhabitants of Wammy's. He explicitly threatened to inflict harm on any number of students if I do not remain in contact with him and comply with his ongoing future demands. Unfortunately, I have every reason to believe he is not bluffing, and that it may even become a matter of life and death if things go wrong.”

The boys exchanged wide-eyed looks over their breakfasts.  
  
“Well... B is pretty crafty, but he's not bulletproof,” Matt ventured after a moment. “I doubt he'd be able to pull anything like that now that you've doubled down on the security so much.”  
  
“It's more complicated than that, I'm afraid,” L said. “I am actually hoping that you three might be able to shed some light onto the more confusing aspects of yesterday's communications with B. I assume you know him much better than I do, after all.”

“To some extent,” Mello said cautiously. “He was a loner, though. He mostly kept to himself when you weren't around.”

“What do you want to know about him, exactly?” Near asked, balancing an untouched donut on his teddy bear's nose.

L thought carefully about the wording before he spoke again. “Has B ever... demonstrated unusual abilities of any sort?” he finally said. “Any sort of behaviour that did not seem... entirely natural?”

“Nothing B did seemed very natural,” Matt said dryly. “Remember the windows.”  
  
“I mean, aside from his regular eccentricities,” L muttered, slurping his coffee down in one scalding gulp and instantly gesturing for a refill. “What I am referring to is... B possibly demonstrating abilities over the years that... maybe appeared to surpass the natural, and border on the supernatural.”

“Woah, what?”  
  
L pressed a thumb to his lip and sighed. “Did he ever appear to... know anything he could not possibly know, or do things he could not possibly do?” L wasn't sure how else he could word it. Not without outright admitting he was now half-convinced B was a mind-reading spawn of Satan who could possess people to do his evil bidding at will. Somehow he didn't think that theory would go over so well.  
  
“Jeez,” said Matt. “Supernatural? Sounds like something really strange must have gone down yesterday.”

Mello was silently frowning, sunk into serious contemplation of L's question.

Near spoke up first. “I'm not sure if this qualifies as 'supernatural,' but B always seemed to know more than you'd expect him to about other people, considering how reclusive he was.”  
  
Mello snorted at that. “Gee, sounds an awful lot like somebody else we know.”  
  
Near shot him an unimpressed look. “It's not the same thing at all, Mello. I might be good at blending in and listening to gather information, but B seemed to be able to take everything in about a person at once, with a cursory glance.”  
  
L pinched his lower lip and mulled that over for a minute. “Interesting observation, Near. I'm not sure what conclusion to draw from it, but I will agree that he's proven inexplicably familiar with confidential personal information before.”

“I wouldn't give B that much credit, Near,” Mello said, crossing his arms. “He was probably just breaking into the student archives on a regular basis and snooping through everyone's files. He really liked freaking people out.”  
  
“That would make sense,” Matt chimed in. “It wasn't very hard for us, remember? I picked the cellar lock with a bobby pin. If B nicked the keys off Roger at some point he could easily get into the archives, too. Remember how good he was at stealing stuff and sneaking around.”

“Excellent points, both of you,” L said. “However, he seemed to also know things about _me_ that he should not have known. Things that are not kept in any records at Wammy's. Or anywhere else on earth, except in my own head, for that matter.”  
  
“Things like your real name?” Near asked.  
  
L blinked in surprise. “Err... Yes. How did you guess that?”  
  
Near shrugged. “It's one of those things about B. I once heard him refer to a new student by their real name within the first thirty seconds of meeting them. They didn't pick up on how strange it was at the time, because they hadn't yet been acclimatized to the Wammy's culture of aliases. But I found it very odd, because a new student like that wouldn't even _have_ a file at Wammy's yet.”

Mello frowned. “Yeah, well... maybe B just overheard the teachers talking about the new recruit or something?”

“The teachers are not aware of the students' real names, though," L said quietly. "The headmaster was the only one privy to that knowledge, and he was under strict instructions never to reveal it to anyone under any circumstances.”

“Yeah, it's too bad we can't ask Roger about any of this anymore,” Matt said lowly, brushing crumbs off his pants. “He's the one who recruited B for Wammy's, right? He knew him better than anyone else here, probably.”

“Yes,” L nodded gravely. “That he did. And then he took his own life, along with all documented information about B's past. That is a very suspicious component of all of this, and not at all a coincidence in my eyes.”

“So you really think B had something to do with Roger's suicide?”

“I do,” L said. “I can't go into details, but I am more convinced than ever because of all that happened yesterday. I am now more than 95 percent positive that B was somehow responsible for Roger's death. But I am not certain yet of how exactly he managed to orchestrate it from afar.”

“Huh,” Matt said. “Do you think B could've blackmailed the headmaster, then? Threatened him with something so horrible he would actually self immolate, maybe to protect somebody he loved or something?”

“I don't believe it was blackmail, but that would be a welcomed simple explanation in comparison to my alternative theories.” L pulled his knees up to his chest. “I do not understand it whatsoever, but I plan on getting to the bottom of it as fast as I can.”  
  
“Well, I don't understand it either, but I'll try my best to help you figure it out, if you want,” Mello offered tentatively.

L smiled warmly down at him, and the boy turned very pink again. “I appreciate that very much, Mello. Which actually leads nicely into my next point.” L hunkered forward, gathering the trio's full attention once more under his arresting gaze.

“I will be leaving Wammy's within the next couple of hours in order to track B down and try to negotiate peacefully with him,” L said. “He appears to have relocated to Japan, and requested my presence there immediately in no uncertain terms. Unfortunately, this means I'm not sure when I will next be able to meet with you three.”

Matt and Near nodded solemnly, and Mello looked crestfallen.

“However, I will very much need eyes and ears at Wammy's House while I am gone,” L said, and then gestured across the room to Watari. “The briefcase, please.” Watari nodded and retrieved a black piece of luggage. L held the briefcase in his lap dramatically for a moment and gazed around at each one of the boys. They watched him breathlessly.

“The truth is, I did not come back to Wammy's simply to do my usual detective work this time, as many have assumed,” he said. “I instead came here to determine for myself who amongst you would make the best choice for my successor... Yes Near, your theory about my visit was entirely correct, well done,” he added quickly, because Near was now sitting up straighter than he'd ever seen him do before.

“You see,” L continued, “I've been secretly evaluating and observing all angles of your work, ambitions and behaviour closely the past month, and -- Near, Mello, Matt -- in my estimation, you three are by far the topmost promising candidates for my role.” L paused another second and then snapped open the briefcase. Mello jumped.  
  
L pulled a black leather belt with a silver buckle out of the briefcase. “Near, your stealth and logical reasoning abilities are by all accounts impressive, and far beyond your years,” he said, and then passed the belt to Near.  
  
The detective pulled another belt out of the briefcase. “Mello, I have never seen another student work so ambitiously to get ahead. Your drive to excel shows in everything you do.”

Mello accepted the belt with both hands, as reverently as if he were receiving communion.

“Matt, your technical expertise, social ease and creative scheming are invaluable assets to this line of work.”

Matt took the third belt with a grin and began wrapping it around his waist.  
  
L snapped the briefcase shut again and waited patiently until he had their full attention. “I admit, it was my original intention to observe you all further until I determined the single best candidate for the title,” he said. “However, during this month's observations, I'm afraid I also noticed sizable weaknesses in all of you. This made it quite impossible for me to confidently choose any one of you as my successor at the present time.”

The boys' excited faces drooped dramatically at that.

L carried right on addressing them as though he hadn't noticed. “Near, you are socially passive, and that withdrawn nature of yours will prove nothing but detrimental when it comes to the necessary evil of working with others,” he proclaimed. “Mello, your sharp tongue and quick-tempered reactions to perceived injustices will only hinder you during the more trying and unfair aspects of your work. And Matt, you are unambitious, far too content to assume a supporting role. He who acts first always wins, and L should take the lead in all things when he can.”  
  
The detective let these judgments hang heavily in the air for a spell. The boys looked glumly up at him, and it was silent except for the quiet hiss of Watari's kettle percolating in the background.

“All the same, I would like to officially invite all three of you to help me with my current investigation,” L carried on brightly after another moment, wiggling his toes. “Which brings me to the belts.” The detective snatched Mello's belt back without warning and held it high above his head.

“Please wear these at all times from now on,” he said. “There is a transmitter hidden inside the buckle, which will tell us where you are at any given moment. And if you press the buckle twice, with force, you will be put into immediate contact with Watari, and he will call you back at Wammy's right away.” He demonstrated, then tossed it back to the glaring blond on the floor.  
  
“Cool,” Matt crowed, pressing his buckle immediately. Watari smiled as his cellphone jingled.

Near inspected his belt blankly for a moment and then asked, “Does this mean I have to wear pants with belt loops now?”

“Not at all,” L replied serenely. “You may wear it around your neck, if you wish. But it would probably be wise not to draw too much attention to these items, as the other children might become very jealous of you.”

Mello's eyes lit up at that, and he put his on immediately. “Right! So now we can contact you directly if we come across anything helpful to the investigation.”  
  
“That's correct,” said L. “Specifically, I want you three to compile a thorough profile of B based on everything known about him at Wammy's. He clearly did not want to leave us with any of his personal information, and that in itself is enough reason to assume it is important to uncover whatever we can about him. I am giving you three full permission to investigate his bedroom, and to look over any documents of B's that may remain here. Interview anyone and everyone who knew him personally, as well. Leave no stone unturned. I've spoken to your teachers and informed them that this will be taking the place of your regular schoolwork for the time being. This could be the very best training for my role that any of you could possibly receive, after all.”  
  
The boys nodded and beamed.  
  
“My one condition is that you all work together, and help each other out by sharing your findings with one another,” L added. “I am confident that your combined strengths will prove immensely helpful to this investigation.”  
  
“Sounds good,” Near said.

“Should be fun,” Matt grinned.  
  
Mello said nothing at all for a moment, and L caught the boy side-eyeing Near with a barely concealed distaste.

“Yeah... fun,” Mello said slowly, not sounding at all convinced. “Hey Matt, we should go look through B's room today. I'll need your help sifting through all that stolen junk, for sure.”

“A very good idea, and I'm sure Near would be a welcome asset to that expedition as well,” L said pointedly. “Three heads are much better than one, or even two.”

Mello's shoulders sagged. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“I also want you to notify me instantly if you hear anything from B, or if anything out of the ordinary happens here that seems like it could possibly be related to him," L said. "I will do everything in my power to ensure no harm comes to any of you here, but the extent of B's destructive capability is still an unknown factor. Please remain vigilant at all times.”  
  
The boys nodded, still busy admiring their shiny new belts.

L sighed. It was clear the seriousness of the threat was not exactly sinking in due to their excitement at being a part of L's plans. But maybe that was for the best, after all. They'd been through quite a bit of stress already this past week.  
  
“Time is ticking, and I'm afraid I must be taking my leave of you all now,” L said softly, unfolding from his seat. “I advise you to keep this meeting confidential, but in the end I will leave it up to your discretion what information you choose to share with your peers. Be thorough, be cautious, and take good care of each other.”

\--

L and Watari were on a private chartered flight to Tokyo by the time the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon.

“I think that went quite well,” L said. “The boys seemed very pleased to be included.”  
  
Watari nodded, but he looked very tired and sad. That past month alone seemed to have aged his mentor nearly a decade, L thought. Roger's death in particular had not been easy on the old man.  
  
“Sometimes I can't help but feel as though I've made a very grave mistake with all of this, L,” Watari murmured, folding his hands in his lap. “Wedy investigated the Tokyo hotel room for us and deemed it entirely safe, and we have the place under constant surveillance now. But all the same, it gives me very little peace of mind. I hope we can find this troubled boy as soon as possible and bring him home before anything else disastrous occurs.”  
  
“We will, Watari,” L replied sleepily, curling up on his seat and closing his eyes. “There may be many disturbing mysteries still at play here, but I will come out on top in the end. B will not be able to resist giving away something crucial when I speak to him tomorrow, I am sure of it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long, dialogue-y chapter, lol. I just can't help myself, apparently. 
> 
> So the rest of the story will pretty much be taking place in Japan, by the way. Phone call with B 'n' such should be uploaded pretty soon too, I just figured I might as well break it up into chunks and toss this first bit out there now. 
> 
> I really value thoroughness when it comes to plotting and the logic of the characters involved-- it is a huge part of why I love Death Note so much in the first place -- but I also hope such thoroughness doesn't bore everyone to tears in the meantime, lol.
> 
> Thanks a bunch for reading :)


	10. Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note regarding the previous chapter. I noticed a couple little things I had to tweak shortly after posting it, so this is a heads up for any early bird readers of chapter 9, there were two small changes made: 
> 
> 1) Initially the teachers also knew the students' names. I quickly realized that would not fit very well with the overall plot, so now it's just Roger who knew the real names.  
> 2) Apparently, Matt had belt loops on his pyjamas. Lol wtf Matt, you weirdo.  
> \--
> 
> Anyhoo, let's get on to some B and L fun now, huh?

**November 7, 2003**

-

1:11 p.m.

_Two minutes to go._  
  
B hunkered on the floor with his thumb in his mouth, contemplating the items laid out between his feet. He fussed with their placement for the thousandth time, trying to keep busy, inching the notebook over a smidgen to centre it perfectly between the cell phone and the pen. He popped open his pocket watch, squinted down at it, frowned, snapped it shut again. Seriously, could the hands move _any_ slower? Was the stupid thing broken, or what?

 _One minute, twenty seconds to go._  
  
It was a damn good thing everything was finally down to the wire, because B wasn't sure he could last another minute longer than this. He'd already stopped himself from prematurely dialling the hotel room fourteen times that day, had to forcibly shove his twitching hands back in his pockets and take cool-down walks around the warehouse just to get his head back on straight.

The waiting was torturous, to be sure. But B had come too far already to bungle everything up with a little reckless impatience now. He needed L to take him seriously, above all, and he therefore certainly could not, and _would_ not, be the first one to break the rules of his own game. That sort of thing would be left up to L, if L so chose.

He compulsively checked the watch again.  
  
_One minute, seven seconds to go._

B bit his ragged nails, rocked on his heels, nerves bubbling miserably in his stomach. He looked around, frantic for a distraction or some shred of reassurance to cling onto.

Ryuk was stretched leisurely across a tower of dusty crates in the loft, basking in a stream of sunlight and munching on an apple. He wasn't exactly reassuring at the best of times, but he was the best B had at the moment.

“It's almost go-time, Ryuk,” B announced, jabbing a finger down at the Death Note. “I could be writing another name in here very soon.” He sounded decidedly more confident about it than he felt.  
  
Ryuk grunted around a mouthful of fruit and gave B a goofy thumbs up with his claw. “Hmm. Sounds good to me. You pick the kid for it yet, or what?”  
  
B nodded grimly, flipping open the Death Note and pressing it flat to the floor. “Yep. I made sure L knew I was beginning at the top of his precious pyramid of successors and working my way down.”  
  
“Right on. That's gotta have grabbed his attention.”

“Yes. Nothing like starting off with a bang, right? Might as well, he's hard enough to impress as it is." 

B shut his eyes tight and practised visualizing Near's face. He conjured up the boy's fluffy white curls, his serious little mouth, his penetrating gaze, so very much like the detective's in all its unabashed curiosity.

_Nate River._

It was a good name. And B actually kind of liked the kid, in all honesty. Near had never once done anything offensive to him, and he was certainly good for a laugh now and then, what with his deadpan observations and talent for pissing Mello off simply by existing. B took no pleasure whatsoever in the idea of writing down this top successor's name, but he was also fully committed to following his own rules no matter what. He could only hope L wouldn't force his hand on this.  
  
B sighed and snapped open the pocket watch.

 _Thirty seconds to go._  
  
His shirt was sticking to his underarms now, and the stale, muggy air of the warehouse was not helping matters any. He peeled the wet fabric free from his ribs with a grimace, took a few steeling breaths, and rolled up his sleeves.

_Twenty-five seconds to go._

He grabbed the cell phone off the floor, flipped it open and stared down at the dial pad. He'd done a ridiculous amount of research and tracks-covering to get this stupid thing set up in a way that even L would probably never be able to trace, but he knew he'd have to toss it as soon as the call was over, all the same.  
  
_Twenty seconds to go._  
  
Ryuk had swallowed his apple core whole by then and was up off the crates, climbing down the ladder to join him. “Wait for me, B. I want to hear what he says.”  
  
“Hurry it up, then, Ryuk. I'm not stalling for you.”  
  
_Fifteen seconds to go._  
  
B dialled in the number for L's hotel room with trembling fingers, and watched the hands ticking steadily around the watch's face.

_Ten seconds to go._

Ryuk was towering over him now, waiting for the show to begin. B felt dizzy with nerves.

_Five seconds._

He pinned the Death Note open beneath him with one foot, and picked up the pen to hover shakily over the page.  
  
_Three..._

_Two..._

_One._  
  
B squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the “talk” button. His heart was jackhammering in his ribcage as the phone dialled rapidly away.

_Ring..._

_Ring..._  
  
_Click._

_\--_

B's eyes shot open at the sound of the receiver being lifted off its cradle. He waited a few agonizing seconds more, not even daring to breathe. There was nothing but the crackle of silence from the other end for what felt like the longest time.

“L?” he finally croaked. His voice was not cooperating very well. He cleared his dry throat and tried again, aiming to sound cool, self-assured. “L.”

“Yes.”  
  
It was only a word — one measly, quiet little syllable of affirmation — but it was L, and it was _real_ , and B's heart nearly leaped right out of his chest at the sound. A wave of heat flooded over his body without warning, adrenaline and relief commingling in such a way as to leave him flushed and trembling like a leaf. He tossed the pen to roll across the warehouse floor and fell back against a crate, grinning.

“You made it,” B gasped. “You're in Tokyo.” Ryuk was snickering at his reaction in the background, and B scowled and turned his back on him.

“I am. You were right, this is quite a nice room.” L sounded very calm. Serene, almost, as if this kind of thing happened all the time, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having and they were just catching up as old friends.  
  
“That means you got all my messages,” B said, grabbing the notebook off the floor to cradle in his lap. “That means you followed all my clues!” He was very impressed, and he couldn't stop smiling.

L laughed softly, an unexpected sound that shot a funny jolt of feeling deep into B's stomach. “Yes, if that's what you want to call it. You were very thorough on my behalf, weren't you.”

B swallowed, saying nothing for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck and blinked a few times, trying to get his wits about him. The dizzying reality of having L's voice here on the phone — L here in Japan — L here, doing exactly what B told him to do — proved very overwhelming to process. B was having a little trouble piecing together his thoughts, all of a sudden.

He simply hadn't anticipated _this_. In all of his angry scheming the past couple weeks — those hours of solitary stewing over his sweet revenge, fantasizing about how shaken L would be, how furious, how frightened, how _sorry —_  B had never once anticipated L being civil and conversational with him. And B had never once anticipated feeling quite like this, himself.

Because now, of all the possible absurd reactions in the world, he was actually feeling... _shy_.

Those messages he'd sent L had been very intimate in a way, he now realized. It was a little bit embarrassing to remember how dramatically he'd framed everything between them, considering L probably had totally forgotten or dismissed almost every pathetic little memory B had emailed him.

 _No. No, wait._  
  
B blinked, shaking his head. That was the whole _point_ of it, wasn't it? Making L realize how apathetic and rude he really was, how sorry he should be for not paying more attention to B, or being nicer when he had the chance. B couldn't let the excitement of L being seemingly pleasant on the line now distract him from the bigger picture.  
  
“Yes, I _was_ thorough.” He hoped he sounded threatening now. He set his mouth into a grim line and flipped the notebook open to the page that featured all the prisoners' deaths. He would use it to ground himself in the serious matters at hand. “I'm sure you had your work cut out for you, following along with it all.”

“I was certainly kept on my toes,” L replied. “Particularly given the tight time frame you kept between each message.”  
  
B nodded vigorously, as though L could see him doing so. “Well, you _are_ L after all, and obviously you were more than capable of handling it.”

“Obviously so.” L fell silent then, seemingly waiting for B to carry on.

B frowned. It didn't seem quite fair that he was feeling so flustered right now, and L was sounding so at ease. Wasn't this supposed to be _L's_ turn to squirm, for once?

B had to regain the control, here.

He looked down at the Death Note, trying hard to conjure up some of the hatred that had consumed him so entirely just hours ago. He thought over exactly what it was he wanted to say to L, knowing he had to make it count.

“I hope you know all of that was just the beginning,” B snapped finally. “You have no idea what sort of things I'm capable of now, L. No idea. That was just a small taste of everything I can do.”

“I have no doubt of it, B. It seems you are very capable of many fascinating and frightening things.”

Well, B had to physically fight to keep the stupid grin off his face at that, and he swiped at his treacherous mouth with a hand. He wasn't used to L flattering him at all, and it was ridiculous how easily it affected his mood. Really, he was supposed to be a terrifying god of death now, not a giggling schoolgirl with a crush. This was just getting embarrassing.

“Well... you better get used to it, L,” he muttered gruffly, forcing a scowl and running a finger along the names in the notebook. “Because there's a lot more where that came from. A _lot_. I bet you would just love to know exactly how I did it, wouldn't you?”

“I would be foolish not to wonder,” L said. “It appeared to me that even your clue-bearers were left in the dark about the vital roles they would be playing for you, somehow. I've never seen anything quite like it before.”

B paused at that, trying to decipher what exactly L meant. Had the detective actually been quick enough to somehow see inmates meeting their demises? Or did he simply investigate each crime scene after the emails were delivered, and rely on second-hand accounts from witnesses? There had only been thirteen minutes between each death, after all. But the way L worded things, it sounded almost like he'd actually _seen_ some of the Death Note's effects first-hand. That would be _very_ impressive, indeed.  
  
“Well,” B said slowly. He had to be very careful with how much he gave away about things here. “I suppose that's just part of the fun for you now, isn't it? Trying to piece together exactly how I did it. You'd never take on a case you didn't find very interesting now, would you.” B wasn't fishing for another compliment, really he wasn't...

“You are correct,” L said. There was a small pause, and then, quietly: “I admit, I've been very interested in all manner of things related to B for quite some time now.”  
  
B's eyes widened. Never in a million years had he expected to hear those words from L's lips. “R-...Really?” His heart was hammering stupidly in his ears again.

“Oh yes,” L said softly, and B bit his lip at the husky quality of it. L's voice had a funny effect on him at the best of times, and it really didn't seem fair at all that he would purr into the receiver like that. Like he knew exactly how B would be weak for it.

He could picture the man so perfectly right now, couldn't he. Crouched there in a chair, phone dangling delicately from his fingertips, probably smirking and stirring a goddamn cup of tea or something.

_Infuriating._

B frowned, flipped to the front of his journal and curled the lock of L's hair around his fingers. “Well... what exactly were you so interested in, then?” he asked anyway, trying his best to sound casual.

“Hmm,” L murmured. “Many things.”

B swallowed. That _tone_. Was L messing with him, or what? He tossed a look over his shoulder, very glad Ryuk couldn't hear both sides of this conversation.

“Well, get specific,” B muttered. “I really don't enjoy being toyed with, you know.”

“Really,” L laughed quietly.  
  
“No,” B growled.  
  
“That's not how it seems to me.”

_Damn it._

“Especially considering all those messages you wrote for me...”

B squirmed in his seat and pulled the lock of hair tight in his fingers.

“...and your visit to my room... and the _fascinating_ goodbye we shared...”  
  
“Hey,” B hissed, now nearly ripping the lock of hair out of the diary, he was tugging on it so hard. “I think you're getting confused, L. _I_ was the one toying with _you_.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes,” B snapped. “Don't get all cute with me. I remember how flustered you were when I got just a little too close.” He smirked as he stroked the lock of hair. “I remember how your heart was racing that night I broke into your room.”

“Hmm,” L hummed into his ear. “I'll admit, you do have quite a talent for surprising me at every turn.”

B licked his dry lips. There was just no way this was happening right now.

He tried again, forcing himself to steer things toward the more serious topics at hand. “I think I could surprise you even more now, L,” he muttered darkly. “I've grown up a lot since leaving Wammy's last month, I'll have you know. You have no idea just how _surprising_ things are going to be for you from now on, thanks to me.”

“Oh, I can only imagine,” L purred, and B actually had to wipe a few beads of sweat off his brow. The funny feeling in his stomach was out of control.

“You'll come to find you're in over your head _very_ soon, because you're not dealing with any ordinary human being here, L,” he growled, thrilling at the menacing sound of his own words. “If I really wanted to, I could kill you right now, just like that. I promise.”

“Could you.”

“Yes.”  
  
“Just like that.”

“Yes.”

There was a long silence, and B had to pause a moment and rein his emotions in again. He was dangerously close to giving something huge away here, damn L and his annoying, perfect voice.

“Well,” L said. “I've always had a taste for people who can actually teach me something I don't already know.”

_A taste._

B sighed, remembering the heated moment in the bedroom, L's unconvincing struggle, that chance to kiss his soft skin for a few short seconds and feel him squirm deliciously beneath him. He'd tasted L then, alright.

“I could teach you a _lot_ of things, L, if you wanted,” he mumbled, almost without meaning to. B hoped to god Ryuk had gotten bored and shambled off to some faraway corner long ago.  
  
“Hmm. I would like that.”

L's tone was exactly as suggestive as B's, and an exquisite shudder rolled straight through him from head to toe. It made him want to toss the Death Note off a bridge, hop into the nearest taxi, burst down L's stupidly expensive hotel room door and climb the man. Right now.

B scowled and huffed a sigh again, running a hand through his damp hair. He had to behave. L might play coy, but he didn't have a naïve bone in his body, and he clearly knew exactly how much he affected B. There was no way he wasn't messing with him right now, at least to some degree.

But all the same, it was so hard to resist. All B had ever wanted in his whole stupid life was L's attention, after all. And now that he finally had it, it was intoxicating. There was more sweet than bitter to L's manipulations, and B wished he could keep the man dangling on a hook, just like this, forever.

“Well then. I'll go into much better detail about all those things I can teach you sometime, if you want,” he continued softly, easing down to lie on his back and stare up at the beams high above. Schoolgirl imagery be damned, but if B had a phone cord, he'd be twirling it right now.

“Please do.”

B imagined L over there in his chair, smiling all smug and superior, assured that he'd already won. He took a much-needed moment to breathe, and gradually he calmed himself down.

Above all, B had to keep his plan in mind. Spilling his guts over the phone right now would be nothing compared to the satisfaction of revealing everything to L little by little, bit by bit, exactly as he wanted to. It would be nothing compared to keeping the legendary L trailing just behind him, always just out of reach. Wondering about him. Spending long, sleepless nights frustrated over him.

B's eyes drifted to the Death Note laying beside him, and suddenly the overall plan came into sharper focus once again. He felt his resolve strengthen immensely.  
  
“Well, you certainly have a talent for getting me all worked up without much effort at all, L,” B laughed after another moment. “I bet you thought you were going to get all of my secrets out of me at once, didn't you? Sorry, but it's not going to be that simple for you. Dare I say, we both deserve better than that.”

“B,” L said quietly, but B interrupted.  
  
“No. You think you're so smooth, don't you, L,” he said, frowning. Peppery indignation was spreading through his gut now as his thoughts steadily clarified. “You think you can sweet talk me for a few minutes, and I'll just forget about everything I've already planned for us, that I'll just come running to you with open arms and tell you everything you need to put me away for good. You really are the most arrogant man I've ever met. And you're still not taking me seriously.”

“You're wrong,” L said, and it made B want to punch him right in his stupid, pompous, lying face.

“No, I'm _right_ ,” B snarled, sitting up and snatching his notebook off the floor. “You've made it _very_ obvious just how little you truly respect my feelings, once again. So well done, bravo. You really are a piece of work, L Lawliet.”

L said nothing, and B laughed bitterly at his silence.

“Boy. You really don't care about _anyone_ but yourself, do you?” That peppery feeling in B's gut now spread until his whole body was prickling with rage. “Even when I go through all this trouble, even when actual _lives_ are at stake, even when I _prove_ to you, over and over again, that I am _not_ someone to be trifled with, you can't help but toy with my emotions the very instant I give you an opening to do so.”  
  
“You're misunderstanding me,” L said quietly. He sounded strained.

“Hah. I don't think I could _possibly_ misunderstand you, L.” B was really worked up into a tidy froth now, but it felt so good to yell at L, and he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. “I think I know you better than you even know yourself at this point. You don't appreciate how hard I've worked to get to know you, despite _everything_ , how hard I try to break down those infuriating walls of yours. And you know what, I'm going to _force_ you to feel something for someone by the end of this, whether you want to or not!”

“Please give me the chance to explain-” L began, but B cut in again.  
  
“No! I'm done letting you explain yourself to me, L,” he snarled. “You've had all the time in the world to explain yourself to me, and you _wasted_ it. I've made myself more than available to you over the years, humiliatingly so. But you didn't care at all, did you? Not until I made it _impossible_ for you to ignore me any longer, not until your ego was at stake, your competency as a detective. I really should wipe everyone out in your entire godforsaken little orphanage right now, just to show you how foolish underestimating me really is.” B's hand twitched dangerously around the Death Note, and for a moment he seriously considered it.

Yes, B was at last thinking clearly once again. He was the one with the Death Note, after all, wasn't he? He was the one with the eyes. How on earth was he letting L get under his skin so much, now that he held the man's entire life in his hands and could crush him just like that, so easily?

L was stone cold silent on the other end, and B was almost thankful the man wasn't trying to stammer out an apology. At least L's silence was honest.

When B spoke again, he was as cool and calm and collected as could be. “This was your last chance to have such an open channel of communication with me, L Lawliet. And look how you squandered it with petty, ego-stroking games. I hope you've enjoyed yourself, because I won't be giving you a chance like this ever again. I'll be getting in touch with you in a much _different_ way from now on. And I can promise, it will not be nearly as much fun for you. Goodbye.”

“B-” L blurted, but B was already hanging up. He stalked calmly outside the warehouse, ignoring Ryuk's sly remarks, and tossed the cell phone straight off the bridge into the murky, polluted water below.  
  
Time to get down to work.

\-- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will feature...*drumroll*.... Light!!! Holy cow, can you believe that we actually freakin' made it. Please wish me luck with getting it out to you at a reasonable pace (I'm a little nervous about it) and thank you so very much as always for reading!


	11. Light

**November 28, 2003**

-

“You, Yagami! Mister number one nation-wide. What're you doing spacing out?”  
  
Light startled as a piece of chalk bounced off his forehead.  
  
“You're our star pupil,” the teacher scolded. “We need you to place first again.”  
  
He'd been daydreaming again, hadn't he.

“Yes, sir,” Light said softly. “Sorry, sir.” He tore his gaze away from the window with considerable effort and forced himself to focus on the lesson.

The teacher harrumphed and brandished the textbook out in front of him, pointing out a particular passage. "Can you please translate this sentence into English for us?"

Light nodded, stood up obediently and read: _"Follow the teachings of God and receive his blessings, and so it shall be that the seas will again become bountiful, and the raging storms will subside."_

The teacher was instantly placated by his perfect pronunciation. “Very good as always, Yagami. Have a seat.”  
  
Light sat back down and sighed, resting his head in his hand, already drifting off into thought once again. He wasn't normally this distracted, but lately it was all he could do just to mask the glaze of utter boredom he felt towards his lessons. Towards his classmates. Towards  _everything_ , really.  
  
He'd placed first nation-wide the last time, and soon he would do it again. It wasn't very hard. It was simply a matter of dutifully attending cram school and getting lots of rest and proper nutrition. Mom was proud, Dad was proud, Sayu was as adoring as always. It was only a matter of months before he'd get the top score on the entrance exams and be accepted into his dream university, too.  
  
He'd asked out the three prettiest girls in school that past month. They'd all been bubbly conversationalists, decent kissers, extremely willing to please. He didn't call any of them back again, but they still tittered with their jealous friends in clusters as he walked by nonetheless, thrilled to have been lucky enough to catch his eye even once.

It was all far too easy. It was incredibly dull, and Light had mentally checked out from the silly high school bubble and all of its unchallenging drudgery long ago.

He wished more than anything that he could fast-forward the next few years until he was graduated and working for the NPA with his dad. Then he'd actually be dealing with things that honestly mattered, like cleaning up the rotten mess the rest of the world was. It was the only thing that really felt worth getting up for anymore, honestly, and the only thing that kept him steadily cresting at the top of the class, diligently attending cram school and going to bed early every night.

Light's eyes flicked back to stare out the classroom window again. He couldn't help it. There was a strange electricity in the air today, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. It was absurd, but it almost felt like there was something big about to happen out there, something life-changing, and if he just watched closely enough he would figure it out...  
  
Something black suddenly flickered past the window, nearly making him jump in his seat.  
  
The raucous caw that followed instantly made him feel foolish. Just one of those stupid crows that had been infesting the school eaves lately.

Light sighed. Yet another sign of the general incompetence of the people around him, that they couldn't even manage to keep his view free of such distracting pests.

\--  
  
Light's walk home from prep class did nothing to improve his opinion of the general population.  
  
“Hey, Maki," brayed one of the more air-headed girls from Light's class. "Want to party tomorrow with some guys from S. College? Ten o'clock." Apparently there was nothing more exciting in their lives than the prospect of getting intoxicated enough to let some lecherous college guys feel them up in a dorm room.  
  
“My mom isn't here yet?" Ryo bellowed. "What's that nag doing, jeez!” Light felt a bit of second-hand embarrassment to see him lose his composure like that, just standing there on the corner awkwardly yelling by himself. But he supposed Ryo was probably still upset about how Sudou had bullied him in class, taking all his pocket money. It was a shame Light couldn't do anything to help him, even if he was a bit weird.

Not ten minutes later, he passed a group of nasty men on motorcycles harassing a poor woman across the street. By the time they were physically grabbing at her, he'd ducked into the nearest store and had the owner call the police. They responded fast. Some of the men fled, but the ringleader was arrested. The girl was found to be shaken, but okay.

It didn't stop Light from wishing he could see every last one of those despicable wastes of human skin flattened by a truck.

 _Damn,_ he thought to himself as he finally arrived at his own front door and kicked his shoes off. _Start looking around you, and all you see are people the world would be better off without._  
  
\--

“Welcome home, Dad.”

“Thanks,” Soichiro grumbled, scowling as he untied his shoes in the entryway. “Finally.” He'd been working very late the past couple of weeks, even more-so than usual, and his tone was sharp more often than not. Light had a hunch that his latest case must be an especially vile or perplexing one. He'd have to investigate further at dinner.

“How's school going, Light?” Soichiro asked as they sat around the table. He was shoving rice into his mouth like he was punishing it for its sins.

“Same as usual, Dad,” Light mumbled, because it was.  
  
“Yup, top of the class as usual,” Sayu laughed around a mouthful, elbowing him in the side. “You can count on Light!”

“Yes, we can count on Light,” Sachiko beamed, practically glowing with motherly approval.

Light wanted to gag himself with his chopsticks. It was all so depressingly easy.

“And what about you, Sayu?” Soichiro tossed his daughter a serious look over his bowl.  
  
“Who, me?” Sayu blurted, laughing nervously and rubbing her neck. “I guess it's same as usual for me, too.”  
  
“I see,” Soichiro grumbled, and went back to punishing his dinner with a vengeance.  
  
“You seem tired, Dad,” Light suggested softly.  
  
“Well, this case is a hard one, to put it mildly,” Soichiro sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Some of the things you see in this line of work really make it difficult to have faith in people, Light.”  
  
Light nodded, sympathetic. He knew the feeling all too well.  
  
“It's been a very unusual case, to be sure,” Soichiro continued, frowning and wiping his mouth. “Very difficult. Whoever is behind these crimes has a sick sense of humour, it seems. Turning everything into some kind of strange puzzle, and it doesn't look like they have any plans of stopping. They've been taunting us, you see, seem to be setting up cryptic clues. The person in charge of this investigation is very, very good, and he did say that he has a personal connection to the culprit, some sort of inside information. But even _he_ is having a hard time figuring everything out. And this sick individual behind the crimes is still at large, treating innocent lives like props for some sort of grisly game-”

“I really don't think this is a subject for the dinner table,” Sachiko interjected softly, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder. “Help me clear the table please, Sayu.”

“Why not?” Soichiro scowled up at her. “We've had cases before where ideas from Light helped us move the investigation forward.” Then he sighed, becoming slightly deflated. He sat back in his chair, watching with a kind of weary affection as his wife and daughter cleared the dishes.

Light was intrigued. He waited until his mom and sister had left the room to speak. “Who's in charge of the investigation, Dad?”

Soichiro stroked his moustache and looked at Light, deliberating over his answer for a moment. “Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt to tell you, Light. Your input is always invaluable. You've heard of L, haven't you?”  
  
Light was shocked. “L? Legendary detective L? Sole person able to mobilize police in every country worldwide?”  
  
Soichiro nodded gravely. “That's the one.”  
  
Light had heard of L, alright. L's job sounded like just about exactly the kind of thing Light dreamed of doing himself, someday.  
  
“He's certainly got a lot of influence, but he's been keeping this particular investigation very private and under wraps,” Soichiro continued. “L insists it stays out of the news altogether, and is only working with myself and a handful of other select detectives from the NPA closely on this one.”  
  
Light nodded. So that accounted for why he hadn't heard about this case before now, he supposed. He was very diligent about keeping up with the news every night, just to remain abreast of all the vile criminal behaviour he'd be working so hard to clean up in the near future.

Light needed to know more about this case, a case so challenging and unique that apparently L himself was working personally with his father to solve it. He'd try to get the information out of his dad conversationally first, but if that didn't work he could always hack into Dad's work computer and look at everything for himself.

Maybe he would do that anyway, later on tonight. It couldn't hurt.

“Wow, Dad, that must be a really interesting perspective to have, working personally with L,” Light said brightly. “He usually works alone, though, doesn't he?”  
  
Soichiro nodded and frowned. “Yes, I must admit he didn't seem very happy about collaborating. But he needs the local law enforcement expertise and all of our resources on his side. He asked for a small, trustworthy task force to be formed in order to help him put a stop to these crimes as soon as possible, but due to the... mysterious nature of the crimes, the only way he could win our trust was to meet directly with us in person. He also needs to stay in close contact with us, because the clues are coming directly to the NPA, not to him.”

Light listened to all of this in stunned silence. “The clues? What clues, Dad?”

Soichiro was still glowering, lost in thought. He tossed a look over his shoulder into the living room, making sure that Sachiko and Sayu were busy watching their shows before continuing. “Well, the clues that lead us to the next murders, we assume,” he said lowly. “The whole thing has a very nauseating, game-like feel to it, Light. Whoever is doing it thinks they're having quite a laugh at our expense. And at L's, I am sure.”  
  
Light sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. This was the furthest thing from boring he'd ever heard. “Wow,” he said with a little laugh. “I guess I can see why you've been so tired in the evenings the past couple of weeks, Dad.”

Soichiro gave a humourless little chuckle of his own and rubbed his forehead. “Well, between you and me, it turns out L isn't exactly the easiest person to work with, son.”

“Oh?”  
  
“It's probably a good thing he normally works alone, because the rest of the task force is about ready to throw him out the window already,” Soichiro grumbled. “He is excellent at what he does, but he has some very childish methods of dealing with coworkers, if I'm honest.” His eyes glazed over, seemingly lost to remembering the indignities L had inflicted upon them all.  
  
Light raised his eyebrows in disdain at the idea. He had a hard time picturing the legendary L throwing immature tantrums behind the scenes, but the extra frown lines in his father's face seemed to speak volumes to confirm it.  
  
“Well,” Light said after a moment. “If there's anything I can do to help you out, I would be more than happy to, Dad. Sounds like you need to put a stop to this vicious criminal as soon as possible.”  
  
“Yes, we certainly do,” Soichiro said. “But I couldn't ask you to distract yourself from your studies just to help me with my work, son.”  
  
“Well, I am going to be working with you in the NPA someday soon too, right?” Light tossed his dad one of his most disarming smiles. “I'm already the top student in Japan. I don't think taking a quick look at things with you should prove too much of a problem for my grades at this point.” He leaned in solemnly and put a hand on his father's arm. “All I want is to do whatever I can to help you bring this criminal to justice, as soon as possible, Dad.”  
  
Soichiro's eyes crinkled, watering with the utmost fatherly approval and pride. “That's very noble of you, Light. Always thinking of others ahead of yourself, aren't you?” He stood from the table and stretched his stiff back wearily, grunting. “Very well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you have a look at some things. You were so quick at solving that insurance fraud, and the rest of us haven't been getting anywhere with this.”  
  
Light smiled victoriously and followed his father into the study.

\--

They sat down together at the coffee table, and his dad put his briefcase down between them.

“I'll start you off with this, Light,” Soichiro said grimly, pulling a worn piece of paper out and handing it and a pencil across the table.

Light stared down at the paper uncomprehendingly. It was a crossword puzzle. A very, very complicated crossword puzzle, and none of the blanks were filled in. “Is this one of the clues, Dad?” he asked after a moment.

“Well, that's what we're wondering,” Soichiro said. “The sender is unknown; a forwarding system was used, and there are no physical traces left on it from the culprit, no way to tell where it was sent from. It arrived in our mail at headquarters several days before the first murder scene was discovered, just a blank envelope with this puzzle inside of it.”  
  
“Huh.” Light was already starting to read through the cryptic hints.  
  
“Most people dismissed the puzzle as a prank at first,” Soichiro continued, watching Light run his finger down the page. “But going by the game-like nature of the rest of the crime scene, we now have a hunch that this could possibly be connected to this case, as well. Hold some kind of vital information...”  
  
Light said nothing, frowning and pressing his finger to his lips in concentration.  
  
“But since the puzzle is so difficult, none of us have been able to solve it, not even L, so maybe it is just a foolish...” Soichiro trailed off and raised his eyebrows as he noticed Light was already starting to jot characters into the boxes. “...a foolish... Have you already figured it out, son?”  
  
Light shushed his father, which was unusually rude by his standards, but the hints were very hard and he needed utter quiet to focus.  
  
Soichiro fell silent, leaning forward with a hand over his mouth, and watched his son work diligently away with sweaty, earnest approval.

Light steadily filled in all the blanks, one by one, and after about another twenty minutes, the entire crossword was completed. He frowned down at it for another minute, flipped it around, looked at it again. He then grabbed a highlighter out of his dad's briefcase and started outlining specific portions of the puzzle. When he was finally finished, Light leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head.

“There,” he said, nodding toward the paper. “Take a look.”  
  
Soichiro snatched the paper up immediately and squinted down at it. His eyes bulged out of his head, and he gasped with disbelief. “Light! I can't believe this. You-You've done it!”  
  
Light smiled. “Looks right to you?”  
  
“Incredible work, son,” Soichiro muttered, shaking his head. He stared incredulously up at his child, as though wondering if he was really his own offspring. “I have no idea how you did it, Light, but this highlighted portion spells out the very address at which we discovered the killer's first crime scene.”  
  
Light nodded. “I guess me still being a student and still having to take so many tests, I might have an edge for figuring these things out over people out there in the workforce,” he said humbly. Inside, he was glowing with pride. Not even L had figured it out, and it only took _him_ twenty minutes...

Soichiro was up and pacing the room in excitement, stroking his moustache and rambling aloud. “The killer sent this to us days before the crimes occurred,” he blustered, grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket. “That means they warned us in advance! That confirms that they're leaving clues to direct us to the next step in their murderous games. Light, I can't thank you enough for your help. I will have to contact L right away, I am sure he will be delighted to hear this.”

Light watched his father dial away on the cell phone and basked in the glow of his accomplishment. He couldn't wait to hear what L had to say about this.

“Watari,” Soichiro barked into the phone after a moment. “I have excellent news to share with the task force. The puzzle, it's been solved.”

He paused, tossing Light an approving look. “Yes, the crossword puzzle,” he said, nodding. “It's giving us the exact address of the crime scene. The one we've already discovered. My son solved it for us just now.”  
  
He paused again, frowning. “Yes, that's right, my son, Light. He's very bright, you know, he's helped me out many times before. He placed top nation-wide in — oh yes, I suppose L would have already looked into that.”  
  
Light raised his eyebrows. So L was snooping into his father's home life, was he?  
  
Soichiro was frowning and nodding, wiping his brow. “Yes, well, there can be no mistaking it now. These are clues that could very well help us prevent the next deaths, aren't they? Light solving it confirms this. It was sent to us well in advance to the crimes being committed, it was only because we couldn't solve it that...”  
  
He paused, grunted, paused again. “Well, I suppose that's... I'm not certain, but if you think it would be helpful... I will have to run it by him first, of course...”  
  
Light sat up very straight in his chair. This sounded promising.  
  
“Yes, just a moment, I'll ask him.” Soichiro put his hand over the cell phone receiver and turned to Light, brow crinkled. “Light. L is very impressed with you solving the puzzle. He asked me to bring you by to meet with him and the rest of the task force tomorrow, but I told him I would have to ask you-”  
  
“Yes,” Light blurted, much too eagerly. He cleared his throat, shook some hair out his eyes. “Yes, I'd love to be of help in any way I can,” he added calmly.  
  
Soichiro hesitated, looking very concerned. “This could be a dangerous position to put yourself in, son,” he said softly. “This killer seems to operate by very mysterious means, and I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything were to happen to you on my account...”  
  
“Dad.” Light rose off the couch and crossed the room, placing his hands on his father's shoulders, and looked him solemnly in the eyes. “I appreciate your concern, but I want to do this more than anything. If there's one thing in this world I care about, it's justice, and I'm going to help you catch this evil murderer no matter what.”  
  
Soichiro's eyes watered. He once again looked overcome with fatherly pride. “Very well, son.” He raised the phone back up to his ear. “Yes. He has agreed to come by tomorrow. Very well, we will see you then. Goodbye.”  
  
Light would have a very hard time sleeping tonight.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching things up a bit with the chapter titles from now on! It's Light's turn to shine, baby (no pun intended)...
> 
> There are a million-and-one nods to (or straight-up rip-offs of) the various canon sources in this chapter. Can you spot 'em all? My favourite is the fact that Ryuk indeed dropped the Death Note for Light on Nov. 28th. Something about Light missing out on his chance to be Kira is always so hilarious to me, hahaha...
> 
> Anyways, next chapter is very much in the works already and hopefully the next update will come pretty soon. Thanks as always for reading, I'm really having a blast with this story so far!


	12. Lawliet

(Three weeks earlier)

-

**November 7, 2003**

-

L wasn't used to feeling like this.

Humbled. Second-guessing. One-upped.

Undoubtedly, that phone call with B was the most disastrous, laughable excuse for an interrogation he had ever conducted in his life. He'd touched on very few of the points he'd meant to. He'd learned little of use, unless you wanted to count that B apparently had a hard time breathing when L lowered his voice.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, L knew he'd given away too much information on his own end of things, as well. His subtle bragging about how quickly he followed the clues — meant to pressure B into letting something slip — had seemingly just frightened the boy into being very tight-lipped about his methods, instead. B was shrewder than L initially gave him credit for, and was probably now aware of just how little L actually knew about his abilities, too.

Just shameful, really. L still wasn't entirely sure how everything had gone so wrong so fast.

It had all started out promising enough. L went for a gentle, persuasive approach, knowing that scolding B would be the worst possible tactic he could employ. Their recent confrontations in the orphanage were more than enough evidence of that. A stern or aggressive tone only ever lead to B finding a way to viciously turn L's own words back around on him — and then touch him inappropriately. But that was another matter altogether.

The most frustrating thing of all, perhaps, was that L _had_ been taking B seriously. At least in the ways that actually mattered. The very fact that L was in Tokyo complying with B's extravagant demands should have been quite enough evidence of that. Even if B didn't necessarily know that L had predicted some of his moves before he made them during the prisoner game, the fact that L successfully completed the game at all still meant he'd understood B's line of thinking all throughout. Perhaps if B had taken a break from nagging L like a pious old nun long enough to think logically for one second, he would have realized this.

B had been so incredibly offended by the end of that call, hadn't he. Had insisted that L was out to coldly manipulate him into a confession, and that was it.

Had B been misunderstanding L?

No. Not really.

Above all, L was bent on winning, on gathering evidence and on drawing B to him by any means necessary so that he could apprehend him. L certainly wasn't above a little sweet talking to get what he wanted, regardless of how strongly someone may or may not feel about him.

B was right to be suspicious. It wasn't the first time L used himself as bait for B, as that had been his method with his staged bedroom at Wammy's, as well.

And yet... And yet, admittedly, L ended up having more fun conversing with B than he'd expected to, or meant to. He'd nearly forgotten what the point of the phone call even _was_ , at some points.

Perhaps it wasn't appropriate, or mature, or at all professional, or... what was it B thought L lacked, compassion? Empathy? No, it was not very compassionate of him to tease B like he had been doing over the phone. That, he would readily admit.

He hadn't meant any of it in a mean-spirited way. But really, the amount that L should have been teasing B was exactly none, considering the boy very much appeared to be literally murdering people in order to be taken seriously by L.Teasing B was a _very_ stupid thing to do, probably akin to poking a starving tiger in an unlocked cage with a stick.

L knew better.

And yet, somehow, their conversation still devolved into a ridiculous flirtation in mere seconds flat. And almost entirely because L kept deliberately side-railing the boy, too. He half suspected he might have continued doing this to B, even if it hadn't been getting him any closer to B letting important things slip.

There was a moment there, when B sounded particularly overcome, that L was caught off-guard by how much he actually enjoyed hearing it. He wasn't exactly sure he wanted to know what that might say about his professionalism. Or his preferences, for that matter.

In the end, it had probably been for the best B didn't allow L to explain himself. What exactly would L have said?

“ _I'm sorry, B, but your voice on the phone hides nothing, even less than those emails you sent me, and I'm finding it hard to resist drawing the little gasps and strained threats out of you a few times more than is probably necessary”_?

Or: _“I'm sorry B, but I've just recently noticed that there is something so unintentionally funny about you, the way you wear your bloody little heart on your sleeve and yet insist with all your might that you don't”_?

There was no good excuse for it. L had tried very hard to come up with at least one.

He tried to blame it on the lack of sleep. On the immense amount of stress B had put him through the past week or so. Dealing with the fallout of Roger's death — smoothing things over with all of those wardens — the threats to the successors' lives — all of that had certainly been no joke. L was jet-lagged, confused and utterly pissed at B by the time he finally arrived in Japan. Most people would hardly fault him for wanting to make the boy sweat a little in return, he was sure.

But even so, most of his animosity towards B had somehow faded away the instant he sat down in the plush hotel room and heard the boy’s shaky greeting on the line.

L had also considered blaming it on his odd sense of humour, which often reared its head at very inconvenient times. It didn't take him long after reading those emails from B to understand what was _really_ going on, and it left him equal parts fascinated and uncomfortable. Not only because he was the oh-so-lucky recipient of B's passionate overtures, either.

L simply could not relate. He could not fathom feeling so strongly about anyone. Ever. His knee-jerk reaction to the idea, apparently, was laughter. Laughter and inappropriate, flirty jokes that could very well lead to innocent lives senselessly ended.

And wasn't that the point B had made to him in the end, in that sobering little speech of his? That L didn't really care about anyone but himself.

It was annoying.

L wasn't normally one to waste much time on navel-gazing, but he had actually mulled that one over for a while, nonetheless. He spent an entire ten minutes sitting in his most focused crouch afterwards, utilizing every percentage of his mental faculties and seriously entertaining B's perspective on his shortcomings.

In the end, L concluded that if caring deeply about someone else meant committing mass murder to catch their eye, and then dragging them unwillingly across the globe for what felt like the strangest courtship ritual ever known to man, then he was pretty content to remain seemingly emotionally stunted and self-absorbed instead.

Pretty rich for B to say such things, as someone who apparently thought nothing of slaughtering a handful of people just to conduct a silly game of telephone and love note passing.

Honestly.

Granted, there was probably a happy medium to be found somewhere between L and B's approaches to feelings. But the detective was not incredibly concerned with confirming that at the moment. All he wanted in the world right now was to solve this disturbing mystery B dragged him into, solve it as soon as he possibly could.

Perhaps B really did know L quite well, in some ways. He had to admit, the boy was decidedly more interesting to him now than he'd ever been before, when previously all L had felt towards him was irritation and disdain. B had claimed to have grown up a lot over the past month, and L had to agree that he no longer seemed like the same desperate teenager L was accustomed to dealing with. B had considerably levelled the playing field now with the demonstration of his mysterious new abilities, and L had to reluctantly give credit where credit was due.

L was also not at all used to being denied, or mystified, or reprimanded, and B had done all three things to him in quick succession. It was a shock to the system.

Infuriating. Unacceptable.

But also motivating. L was now gripped with a fervor to win that he'd nearly forgotten he could muster. He had been so listless and moody during those past few weeks at Wammy's, skulking around in the shadows like a ghost, feeling sorry for himself. It felt very good to be back out there in the world again, working on something challenging, proving himself.

B's defiant parting words hinted that more innocent lives now hung in the balance, and L had to do everything he could to track the boy down and stop him before he struck again.

There was no question in his mind that B deserved to be punished for what he had done. L had witnessed enough of the deaths to know how terrible and cruel they were. Murder was murder, plain and simple, no matter the sob story behind it.

True, L could have been nicer to B at some points. But then again, perhaps B could have been nicer to Roger, or those inmates, or the children he threatened. Being snubbed one too many times by L was certainly not a good enough excuse for any of that, and the boy had all but confessed to it already. Once L had the hard evidence to convict him, B would be brought to justice for his crimes.

Even if he _was_ sort of a funny, intense little person who L apparently enjoyed teasing over the phone a bit too much.

L didn't much like thinking about the fact that perhaps he could have, or should have, realized such things about B _before_ the boy started his vicious murder spree. It was a strange, sad train of thought. Quite possibly the very one B had been nudging him along with his prisoner game, come to think of it.

What was it B had said again? That he thought he knew L better than L even knew himself?

Again, annoying.

L still found it hard to mentally attribute all those violent deaths to the shivering little voice on the phone, despite his belief that B was indeed somehow responsible for them. Perhaps that somewhat accounted for L's inability to feel very frightened of B, even though he knew by all logical assumptions that he very much should. B probably really could have wiped him and all of Wammy's out right that instant, just like he'd claimed.

Even so, L found himself wishing more than once that he could just phone the brat back and explain some of these things to him. The more conversational things, at least. It was frustrating to know that it was no longer an option. He supposed there was definitely something to be said for playing hard to get, because now it gave L all the more reason to find B. And L knew that was what B really wanted, in the end, despite his angry parting words.

However, as things stood now, all L could do was use the usual tracking methods of his trade. He and Watari relocated to a new hotel immediately after B hung up, and got right down to business of finding him.

\--  
  
**November 8, 2003 – November 9, 2003**

-

L worked nonstop through his first three days and nights in Tokyo, feverishly trying to make up for his foolish mistakes on the phone. 

There was a sizeable ten day spread in between B leaving Wammy's on October 29th and B phoning L on November 7th. In that time, B managed to eliminate Roger and his school records, make his way from Winchester to Tokyo, conduct the game with the prisoners, arrange everything in Japan for L's arrival, and also go into hiding there. L needed to piece together B's movements during that period and fill in any gaps he could. He needed to retrace B's steps, looking for any slip-ups or crucial bits of evidence that B might have left behind along the way.  
  
L started with what he knew for sure: that B had to have taken a flight to Japan at some point before the prisoner game.

There were three major airports within a fifty miles radius of Winchester, so L kicked off his investigation with those. He and Watari contacted each of these airports and accessed their records, sifting through ledgers of all the passengers on flights from England to Japan between October 29th and November fifth. They did not know B's real name, which made it trickier, but L assumed that B would likely use a fake name and falsified documents to travel under, nonetheless.

Eventually, a name on one of the ledgers stood out: an 18 year old male passenger going by the name “Rue Ryuzaki” took a non-stop flight from London Heathrow Airport to Tokyo, Japan on November the third. Something about the alliteration and the Japanese quality of the name caught L's eye, and so on this hunch he reviewed tapes of the airport security camera footage surrounding that flight.

L found just what he was looking for by the second hour of reviewing security footage. Unmistakably, suddenly there he was. 

B, looking eerily similar to L with his messy hair and tired eyes. B, trotting around the airport with nothing but a small carry-on bag in tow. B, in battered sneakers, a hooded jacket, and with a bruised and sore-looking mouth, thanks to Mello's little parting ceremony in the kitchen.

L pressed a thumb to his own mouth and watched the monitor with narrowed eyes as B's little figure arrived at his flight's gate. He sat there for nearly forty minutes, waiting patiently to board. He didn't eat, he didn't nap, didn't converse with anyone else; he just sat and stared straight ahead, kicking his feet a little. He seemed to occasionally chuckle and mumble to himself, and he looked from side-to-side twitchily once or twice. Right before boarding, B opened his bag and rummaged around in it, as though double-checking on the contents. Then he zipped it up again. And that was it, he was off to line up.

L verified with the airline that B was travelling light that day; their records confirmed that “Rue Ryuzaki” had not checked any other luggage when he boarded that flight. This was a very helpful piece of information, as it meant that if B's strange abilities were tied to anything physical, it would have to be something that was small enough to fit into his carry-on bag.  
  
Next, L interviewed the airline employees who'd been working that flight. One attendant recalled a strange young man that fit B's description. She said that he'd disrupted the other passengers early on with noisy, unsettling behaviour. He'd been playing with his food, whispering to himself and sitting very oddly in his seat. He only quieted down once he started reading, and then he thankfully slept for the remainder of the flight. None of this was particularly useful to L, except perhaps to confirm that Wammy's House's greatest strength certainly did not lie in honing its students' basic social skills.

\--  
  
L slept for about three hours total the night of November the eighth, and then spent the entirety of the ninth trying to trace B's movements in England prior to his flight. He tracked the credit card B used to buy his plane ticket and found it had also been used once before to rent a motel room in London on October 29th. B stayed under the "Ryuzaki" name when checking in there, as well. L used this motel's location as a starting point, and investigated any strange goings-on on October 29th within a five mile radius of it.

It didn't take him long to uncover something huge. There were police reports of an unusual number of homeless persons found deceased in the streets that very evening; four total were discovered within seven blocks of each other, and not very far at all from B's motel. Foul play was ruled out by police because further investigation confirmed coronary arrest as the cause of death for each of them.

L personally did not rule out foul play in the least, but unfortunately there were no helpful bits of security footage or eye witnesses to help him with his alternative hunch. Nonetheless, he felt pretty safe assuming that B's mysterious abilities had likely been discovered and unleashed no later than that evening of October 29th, and that these unfortunate vagrants were some of his first experimental victims. Roger was probably one of his next, more deliberate ones.

L also had reason to believe that B's mysterious murdering abilities were likely not discovered or developed until after he left Wammy's. After all, if B had really wanted Roger dead or to seriously threaten L, he probably wouldn't have to resort to such petty tactics as trashing L's bedroom to unleash his aggression. Had B been able to do these destructive things from afar while still living in the orphanage, L figured he probably would have done them already, especially during those two weeks of solitary confinement. To L, this meant that whatever strange abilities B learned or acquired, he likely learned or acquired them sometime in those few hours between leaving the orphanage and experimenting with them that night in London.

L also assumed that whatever B might need to do his killing — if there were indeed any limitations on his abilities at all — that B already had everything he needed to control or kill L and the others at Wammy's. Unfortunately, there was likely nothing the detective could do to protect them now beyond what he had already done.

L trusted that B would not kill him yet, simply because he knew B still wanted him to participate in his games, to keep chasing him down. L also had to believe that as long as he did his best to humour B's whims and continue devoting his attention solely to solving B's case, this would hopefully keep the Wammy's residents alive, too.

L had monitored Near via the hidden cameras at Wammy's the entire time he was on the phone with B, just to assure himself of the boy's ongoing safety. He knew all too well how helpless he actually was to save Near or Mello or anyone else if B decided to actually make good on his threats, though. It seemed the most helpful thing L could do to protect the successors was to take B very seriously. Considering the shameful way their phone call ended up going, he was immensely lucky nothing worse had happened to them already, really.

He spent a lot of time mulling over that phone call in the days following it, deliberating over the tiny scraps of information B let slip:

Firstly, B had essentially confirmed that he was in control of the times of deaths of each of the inmates when they discussed the thirteen minute spreads.  
  
Secondly, B had alluded to having “changed” or “grown” since leaving Wammy's, and to being capable of much more than everything L had already witnessed. This strengthened L's theory that B had figured out his new abilities right after leaving Wammy's.

Thirdly, B had referred to himself as being “no ordinary human being.” L fully believed B when he said this. L also believed that B's ability to know people's real names — at a cursory glance, as Near described it — was likely tied into all of this, that it was somehow innately connected to B's long-distance murder capabilities.

There was one final crucial piece of information L gathered from their phone call — a deceptively small piece that L was slowly realizing was actually a hugely significant clue — and it was this:

B slightly mispronounced L's real name when he spoke it.

B added a bit of a drawl to the name “Lawliet,” put an extra syllable in it. L hadn't been entirely sure of it before when he was just whispering it in his ear at the orphanage, but there had been no mistaking it once B was yelling it at him over the phone.

It was extremely significant that B was mispronouncing his name, in fact, because it could only mean one thing:

B was _reading_ his name.

He was not hearing L's thoughts, or knowing L's name innately, or listening to it spoken by anyone else. B was _reading_ it, and coming up with the pronunciation of it on his own.

This piece of information, combined with Near's testimony and L knowing that his own name was not written down anywhere on earth, left L with the impression that B could somehow _read_ people's names just by looking at them or meeting them. And that he had been able to do this for quite some time now.

Or something to that effect, anyway.

It still made very little sense; but then again, when did _anything_ with B ever make much sense?

Those prisoners' deaths certainly hadn't made much sense to L. Even so, the fact that he'd been quick enough to witness several of them taking place was probably the single most valuable insight to B's methods L could possibly hope to have. He thought a lot about those, too.

L thought about how each of the prisoners had died _before_ he'd caught up to them: stabbing, hanging, head trauma, an allergic reaction to a wasp sting, and a brain aneurysm. Some of them were entirely self-inflicted, and some of them were not, could not possibly have been orchestrated by the prisoners themselves.

He also thought about the way all the prisoners had died _after_ he'd caught up to them: struggling to harm themselves however they could, and then immediately dying of heart attacks after being forcibly restrained.

L had ordered immediate autopsies of all of the prisoners during his follow-ups with the wardens, and the reports were coming back just the same as Roger's had. There were no unusual or mind-altering substances found in any of their systems. All heart attack victims had been in good health prior to their sudden demises.

L recalled how those prisoners seemed so utterly unaware of their participation in B's game, right up until the very second the clock struck B's designated time. There was no question in L's mind that these inmates were not at all complicit in their roles until they suddenly had no choice but to be, until their will-power was hijacked and they became little more than puppets or pawns. Roger had burned B's files, the prisoners had relayed the numerical clues. It seemed that B was able to control his victims' actions prior to their deaths to some extent, as well.

Thinking about all of this, L reasoned that once each person had been chosen by B to die, there was no reversing the decision. He wasn't sure if that was because B willed it that way or not. L suspected that the final prisoners would not have died of heart attacks if L had left them to their own devices, though. They probably would have died in their own unique ways, to keep with the pattern of all the others.

So were the heart attacks also B's doing? Or were the heart attacks like a built-in fail-safe, an automatic override to ensure the deaths ran their course no matter what? Was B capable of watching the deaths from afar, too, or just initially planning them? Did B even know that several of the deaths had likely not gone as he initially planned them?  
  
L had no way of knowing any of this for sure, of course. He wished more than anything that he could combine all these fragments of bizarre information into some sort of sensible picture, but the more he pieced together the more confused about it all he felt.

\--

  
**November 10, 2003**

-

Three days since the phone call, and B still had not contacted L again. He knew that it wouldn't be long until B resurfaced again, though. B was always far too eager to get in touch with him in the past.

L slept another few hours on the tenth, and then he and Watari moved hotels again. He redoubled his efforts, diving back into work with a vengeance, now aiming to trace B's steps after arriving in Japan.

B had arrived in Japan late on November third. They found footage of him at that airport, too. B once again talking to himself, looking very solemn and determined as he wove through the crowds with his little carry-on bag. B taking a taxi away from the airport. The car headed north, but it proved very difficult to track him any further from there.

Indeed, B seemed to get more serious and less sloppy as he went, and the many little slips he'd made in England were now much fewer and farther in between. The cruel irony of B being such a good student at Wammy's was that he now knew all the tricks of L's trade, and when B put his mind to it he seemed to know how to cover his tracks as a criminal very well, indeed.

B had used an apparent proxy to pay for L's hotel room. Hacking the lobby's security footage revealed a tall stranger wearing a high-collared jacket and hat, effectively obscuring their features from view. B had reserved it using Watari's false personal information available to the students at Wammy's, and had used cash to pay; L could only assume B had hired someone to assist him, or possibly used his other mysterious methods of persuasion to ensure the proxy's cooperation.

Despite his best efforts, L had not been able to trace B's call to him on the seventh, either. However, it seemed the other phone B used —the cell he'd set up as his answering machine for the end of the prisoner game —was still giving out an active signal. L had tried tracing it to no avail after first completing the game. He continued trying every few hours nonetheless, but it was only on the tenth of November that L found he suddenly could successfully pinpoint its location. He sent Watari out to retrieve it immediately, and it was found plugged in and sealed tightly in a waterproof container, bolted to the back wall of an old warehouse near Nakaminto Fish Market.

Watari promptly investigated the warehouse and discovered its security cameras had been disabled and its back door forced open. It appeared B had been squatting there only days before, judging by the little burlap sack bed in the loft and the occasional dried up apple cores lying here and there. The close miss was nothing short of maddening.

It seemed B actually wanted L to find this particular phone now, had orchestrated it that way; the waterproof container also held a little hand-written message from B. It wished L well, and suggested that he might want to get in touch with the NPA, and sooner rather than later.

So L did.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading!


	13. Likewise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed chapter 12's title from "L" to "Lawliet" a lil bit after posting it, thought it suited it better. Not that it really matters, but I always feel weird about making changes like that after posting stuff and then not mentioning it? 
> 
> The joys of posting works-in-progress, I suppose. I'm always going back and tweaking tiny little details that bug me, and then wondering if anyone might re-read a chapter at some point and notice the change and find it weird... It's never anything worth mentioning, but promise I'll be sure to throw it in the author's notes on future chapters if I end up changing something that actually kinda matters, anyways, haha.  
> \--  
> Hokay, enough rambling  
> so guess what time it is now  
> yes that's right it's Lawlight o'clock  
> oh shit waddup

**November 29, 2003**

-

Light wasn’t used to feeling like this.

He practically leaped out of bed that morning, and couldn't get home from cram school fast enough.

He took his time choosing his outfit for the meeting with L. He polished his watch, groomed his hair and teeth and nails to perfection. First impressions were everything, and Light would make this one looking tasteful, accomplished, and wholly adult. He spent a long moment in the mirror, assessing the final result with a satisfied quirk of an eyebrow.

Yes, there would be no question in anyone's mind that he would be a welcomed asset to the world's most renowned and influential investigator, looking like this.

After all, this was exactly the kind of worthwhile opportunity Light had been pining for, all those mind-numbing afternoons in class. He wouldn't let it pass him by. He was going to give it everything he had.

And, when you were Light Yagami, well. Everything you had was quite a lot.

“Wow, Light, looking good,” Sayu piped up from the living room when he at last breezed down the stairs. “You finally get a girlfriend or something?” She skipped out into the entryway to grin hopefully at him while he tied his best shoes. “Gee, is that cologne? Smells good.”

Light sighed. “Shouldn't you be studying, Sayu?”

“Oh yeah.” She leaned mournfully on the doorframe. “About that, can you help me with my homework tonight? It's quadratic functions again.”

“Sure.” Light stood, smoothed a tiny crease out of his pants, and dusted off his knees. “I'm just going to meet Dad, to go over some stuff with him for his latest case.”

Sayu's wide eyes sparkled with admiration. “Oh yeah, that's right, you're going to be a detective too someday, right?”

Light nodded down at her. “That's right. Someday I'm going to be the head honcho at the NPA.”

“I bet you will too, Light,” she said. “You really could.”

Light smiled, ruffled Sayu's hair, and then headed out the door.

\--

The task force was investigating from a hotel room. It figured L would do something like that, as secretive as he was. Light had tried to get information about the case by hacking his dad's computer late last night, but unfortunately it seemed L was keeping everything off the record there, for now.

One of his dad's colleagues met Light as soon as he stepped out of the taxi.

“Hi Light, we've been waiting for you!” the man chirped, smiling huge. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He also seemed vaguely familiar. Someone Dad brought home from work before, Light realized after a moment. His father often took a charitable shine to the underdogs at the office.

“Hey. Matsuda, isn't it?” Light never forgot a face, and was very good with names.

Matsuda glowed at the recognition. “Wow, you remembered me. The Chief must talk about me sometimes at the dinner table, huh?” He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “All good things, I hope!”

Light merely nodded, not willing to lie to a face so unabashedly hopeful as his. “Thanks for coming to meet me,” he said instead.

“No problem at all!” Matsuda led the way into the lobby. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialled away. “Ryuzaki, Light's arrived. We'll be in the room in three minutes.”

_Ryuzaki?_

Light's heart skipped quietly in his chest during the long ride to the hotel's top floor. He furtively checked his reflection in the elevator doors, flicking a strand of bangs back into perfect place with a little toss of the head. It was very hard to concentrate on Matsuda's bubbly small talk now, but he managed to murmur his assent in all the right places nonetheless.

Then, just like that, they were at the hotel room's door. Matsuda fumbled with his keycard for a ridiculously long time, and Light waited impatiently in the hall. He thought through all his opening lines again, fussing with his clothes a bit more.

Finally, Matsuda got the room open.

_This is it. L is behind this door._

Light took a deep breath and followed Matsuda inside.

\--

It took Light a moment to process the scene inside the room. There was his father, brooding over a case file in the corner, and then a group of men seated and muttering around the coffee table together, and someone who looked an awful lot like an elderly butler off to the side, bustling around with a cart—

“Light’s here,” Matsuda announced to the room. Everyone fell instantly silent, and then seven pairs of eyes turned all at once to look at Light.

One particular pair of eyes in the middle of the gathering was so arresting that Light nearly stopped dead in his tracks.

The man at the centre of the group around the table was youngish, younger than all the rest: wild-haired and barefoot, hunkering strangely on a chair with his hands resting on his knees. He was dressed incredibly casually, and sucking on a teaspoon.

But those _eyes_. It was like being drawn into a black hole to meet that gaze head-on, even from all the way across the room like this. It made Light's cheeks tingle and his breath catch in his chest, the way that man was staring at him.

_Well. That one has to be L, then._

He was utterly bizarre looking, and nothing at all like Light had imagined he would be.

“Glad you made it, son.” Soichiro was immediately at Light’s side, ushering him over to meet the seated group. “Everyone, this is Light,” he said proudly.

Light quickly took in the other Japanese officers' names — Aizawa, Mogi, Ide, Ukita — and greeted them all politely in turn. Soichiro halted the introductions after that and went to sit down, seeming to think L would want to handle the rest of it for himself. Everyone turned to face the detective expectantly and waited for him to speak.

L did not speak, though. Instead, he just continued to stare heavily at Light with huge, unblinking eyes, sucking hard on his teaspoon. He said absolutely nothing, nothing at all, and the silence stretched on until it became awkward for everyone involved. The task force shifted in their seats, exchanging uncomfortable glances with each other. It appeared L wasn’t normally at a loss for words like this.

Light finally cleared his throat and moved to step around the coffee table. He extended a hand out to L and opened his mouth to speak; but before he could even get a syllable out, L interrupted him with an obscene sucking noise as he plucked the spoon abruptly from his mouth. He dropped it into his teacup with a clatter, and then in an instant he was up off his seat.

“I'm L,” he said, coming to stand directly in front of Light. He had a surprisingly deep, pleasant voice. “I'd like to thank you for coming in on such short notice. I've heard a lot about you.” He contemplated Light's still-outstretched hand for a long moment, as though it was a most curious thing indeed. He didn't move to shake it.

Light fought hard to keep the flicker of irritation from showing on his face.

_Okay, seriously. What is this guy's deal?_

“It was no trouble at all,” Light said gracefully after a moment, lowering his hand. “I'm just happy to be here. I must admit, I've been an admirer of your skills for quite some time now.” He flashed L his most dazzling smile.

“Is that so?” L droned. He ran a thumb across his mouth and hummed softly, looking Light up and down, much more thoroughly than was necessary, and Light felt his cheeks warming up despite himself. L's gaze then slowly slid back up to meet Light's, and he stared into his eyes so hard that Light felt his scalp prickle.

“Well, thank you for the compliment," L said.

_Hmph._

Light couldn't be sure why, but something about how L said it very nearly rubbed him the wrong way. He would try not to read into it too much, but this introduction probably couldn't get any more uncomfortable, at this point.

“I like your cologne,” L added quietly.

Okay, never mind. It definitely could.

“Uh, L... I mean, Ryuzaki,” interjected Soichiro finally, frowning a bit. “Why don't we let Light sit down, and then we can start going over things together?”

“Oh yes, by all means.” L suddenly backed off, plopping down to hunker in his chair again. “Please have a seat, Yagami-kun.” He picked up his teacup in both hands and sipped it, now looking very at ease, as though none of his strange behaviour of seconds before had even happened at all.

Light blinked. He shook off the flustered, vaguely offended feeling as best he could, and sat down on the far couch across from L. Matsuda came trotting over shortly after and took the empty seat next to him, too.

The other men were shuffling papers around on the table and gathering them into folders, looking very tired. They had already been here for hours, and it showed. The one called Aizawa sighed grumpily, jerked his head slightly towards L, and then shot Light a sympathetic eye roll.

L didn't seem to notice; or if he had, he didn't care. He caught Light's eye again and gestured lazily with his spoon at the old man across the room. “That is Watari,” he said, by way of introduction.

Watari turned, gave Light a little bow, and then went back to scooping ice cream.

_Wait, what?_

Light had to do a double-take. But yes, the distinguished old man in the corner was indeed scooping ice cream into cones.

“He makes us the best snacks,” Matsuda whispered gleefully in Light's ear.

"Oh?” Light nodded, as though it all made perfect sense. Things just kept getting stranger by the minute around here.

“Watari works alongside me, and is the means by which the rest of the task force contacts me,” L continued nonchalantly, sipping his tea.

“Right.” Light recognized the name from his father's phone call in the study yesterday.

“I was very impressed by your abilities with that crossword puzzle, Yagami-kun.” L's tone was impassive, but he was now watching him steadily again, his voice muffled inside of his teacup. “Truly astounding reasoning.” It was supposed to be a compliment, but it almost sounded like an accusation.

Light leaned forward on his elbows and flicked some hair out of his eyes, smiling warmly back. “That means a lot to me, coming from you. I guess I've always been fortunate to have a bit of a natural ability with written tests.” He made sure to keep his tone soft and neutral, eyes full of humility.

L glared at him over the rim of his drink all the more, and slurped his tea down. “Hmm, it would appear that is the case." He set his cup noisily back down on the table, grabbing the nearby teapot for a refill.  
  
Light stared in disbelief as L next began hefting heaping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into the tiny cup. He nearly gagged as he quickly lost count of the scoops, but managed to somehow keep a nonjudgmental expression frozen in place on his face.

Honestly, it was so hard to believe that _this_ guy was L.

Aizawa seemed to be on pretty much the same page as Light. He huffed at the sight of L's sludgy tea and grumbled something about needing some air, then got up to leave.

“I'm with you,” Ide said.

“Me too, I could use a smoke,” Ukita mumbled.  
  
“But wait guys, the ice cream,” Matsuda called helpfully after their retreating forms. Watari was just starting to make his way over with the full tray of cones.  
  
“Matsuda, why don't you make yourself useful for once and go bring it to them?” L grumbled, not even looking up from his sugar dishing.  
  
“Oh, okay.” Matsuda nodded, eyes wide. “You want one, Light?” Light politely declined, and then Matsuda eased the tray out of Watari's hands and trotted dutifully out the door.  
  
“In fact, why don't _all_ of you take a break for a while?” L tossed out to the remainder of the gathering. “It would give me a chance to chat with our guest here a little more freely.” He sipped his tea, eyes flicking back up to stare predatorily at Light.  
  
Mogi didn't need to be told twice. He tossed his file down with a grunt and hastily followed the other four out of the room. After a dismissive nod from L, Watari slowly wheeled his cart of goodies and dirty dishes out the door, as well. 

Soichiro was the last to leave. He lingered for a long moment, looking very concerned and fatherly indeed. “I'll be right outside if you need me, son,” he finally muttered, and gestured subtly to his cell phone holster.

Light gave his father a nod and a reassuring smile, and then the door finally closed behind him, leaving L and Light by themselves.

\--

Light was glad for the opportunity to talk to L alone, as it gave him more of a chance to steer the conversation exactly where he wanted. But even so, it was hard to feel very glad when he turned back around and once again took in the strange man glowering at him across the table.

In addition to glaring menacingly at Light, L was now lapping sugar granules off the rim of his cup in long, slow licks. The sight gave Light a little shiver, but he smiled pleasantly back at L nonetheless. 

Inside, he was feverishly racking his brain, trying to figure out what exactly he had done to deserve such a hostile look.

He'd been very helpful to the investigation, hadn't he? And he'd been nothing but absolutely charming and agreeable since the moment he walked in the room, he knew it. He always was. People were just so easy. 

So what the hell was L's problem right now? _  
_

_He couldn't possibly just be sulking that I solved the puzzle before he did... could he?_  
  
There was no way L himself was that petty.

Light needed the detective to want him on the task force more than anything, but judging by that grumpy face, L seemed to be a tougher nut to crack than most. Apparently, Light would have to turn up the charm even more.

“Wow, I still can't believe I'm actually getting the chance to meet with the legendary L like this,” he said brightly, running his hand through his hair in a very good imitation of feeling bashful. “I guess I can just consider myself very lucky that my father happened to be working personally with you on a case.” He laughed a little and leaned back on the arm of his chair, slowly crossing one long leg over the other.

“Yes, I suppose you can,” L said blandly, watching Light's legs move. He gave the rim of his teacup one last long lick for good measure and set it down on the table in front of him, then pulled his knees up snugly to his chest. “I suppose I can also consider myself lucky that the Chief of the NPA has such a remarkable son at home to help him with his work.”  
  
Light almost quirked an eyebrow at that. It was very hard to decipher L's tone, but he supposed he would just have to work with what he was given and assume L was being sincere. At least L had finally stopped glaring at him, for now.

“Well," Light said. "Whatever the case, it sounds like solving that puzzle is going to help move the investigation forward a little, isn't it? My father mentioned that it confirms there are clues being left by the killer.”

“Yes, so it does." L sounded rather dismissive. “But let's not jump right into talking about the case just yet. Right now I am much more interested in getting to know _you_ better, Light-kun.” He gripped his knees and leaned forward, wiggling his toes energetically on the seat.  
  
_Hmph._ _Light-kun already, huh? Oh well, I suppose I can work with this._  
  
“Sure,” Light said amiably. “By the way, should I be referring to you as 'Ryuzaki' from now on? I think I heard the others—”  
  
“Oh, that,” L cut in. “Yes, I am to go by 'Ryuzaki' at all times outside of these walls, and some of the others find it is a good habit to use it all throughout the day with me, as well. You may call me L within investigative headquarters though if it suits you, Light-kun. We have the place very well secured from any potential eavesdroppers.”

Light nodded, more than pleased. This was very promising; the way L was talking, it seemed to imply that there would be more visits to headquarters in Light's future. He just had to keep playing his cards right and get confirmation.

“Alright then, L,” Light said. “What exactly did you want to know about me?”  
  
L ran a thumb over his lips and hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, I've already researched you pretty thoroughly on the internet, as well as had extensive background checks run on the entire Yagami family," he murmured.  
  
Light could barely keep his eyebrows from flying off his forehead at that. “Oh, I see,” he finally managed.

“So I already know all about your incredible I.Q., and your countless astounding academic achievements,” L continued nonchalantly, as if this was a totally normal thing to be admitting. “I also know that you were the national junior high tennis champion several times over. I suppose what interests me more than all of that, Light-kun, is the fact that you apparently hung up your tennis racket after being crowned champion for the third year in a row, and then announced that you would never play again. A truly infuriating stunt to pull by some people's standards, I am sure.”

Light was nearly speechless by this point. “Y-Yes, that's all true,” he stammered.

_Honestly, L had some nerve..._

“So,” L said. “I suppose my question for you is this...” he hunkered forward conspiratorially. “ _Why?_   Why quit when you're so far ahead like that, Light? When you already have what so many other people want so badly? Hmm?” His voice was soft, but his eyes were boring harshly into Light's again.  
  
Light stayed very quiet for a moment. He had to stop and think carefully about this one. If L was testing him in some way with this question, trying to figure out whether or not he was fit to be working on this case... could it be a trap of some sort, if he answered in a way that L didn't like?  
  
Maybe he should say that he wanted to give other people a chance at the title — that he didn't want to risk injury — that he had to focus on his studies more instead of his athletics —  
  
“Because... Because it was boring.” 

Before he even quite knew what he was saying, Light found the honest truth spilling out of his lips. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. It felt strangely good to hear it out loud, even if it wasn't his proudest admission.

“Ah,” L said quietly. “I suspected that may have been the case.”

When Light looked up again, he fully expected to be met with another withering glare. He was shocked to see L's eyes looking back at him entirely humanly for once. They looked warm, and almost... sympathetic.  
  
“Well,” Light laughed dully. “I guess that probably seems like a very petty reason to quit, huh?”  
  
“Oh yes, very petty,” L said, a little hint of dryness in his tone. “But also understandable. Perhaps you just weren't being matched up with the proper opponents.”  
  
Light wasn't sure why, but as L continued to watch him, he suddenly found his neck feeling rather warm under his collar.

Light wasn't at all used to being so candid with anyone, especially not someone he'd just met, someone who had something he wanted, who he needed to do anything to impress. How exactly had this happened? He didn't much like the vulnerable feeling it gave him all of a sudden.

“Maybe so.” He nodded uneasily and cleared his throat. “In any case, that was quite a few years ago now. I won't have much time for tennis once I'm studying to join the NPA in the coming school year, anyway.”  
  
“Oh yes, your father mentioned that you plan to follow in his footsteps with your choice of career. It appears you two share a very strong sense of justice, Light-kun.”  
  
Light nodded vigorously, leaning forward in his chair. This was good, this was a conversation path he could easily turn towards clinching his place on the task force.  
  
“Yes. If there's one thing in this world that I really do care about, it's seeing justice carried out whenever possible,” he said solemnly. “When my dad told me about this evil murderer you're tracking, how they're taking lives just to play a little game with you all, well... it really made me sick. I want nothing more than to see them punished for their despicable crimes, and for that reason I want to do anything I possibly can to help you catch them.” He expected L's eyes to light up with approval at that little heartfelt speech, but instead they just remained strangely dark and unreadable.  
  
“I see,” L said slowly, after another long moment. “And exactly how much did your father tell you about this case, Light-kun?”  
  
“Not much more than that,” Light said honestly. “He mentioned that the murderer has a somewhat mysterious method of killing, and that you might have a personal connection of some sort to them... that it could be dangerous for me to get involved. And he said that the murderer was leaving cryptic clues for the police, and for you, like that crossword puzzle.”  
  
“Ah. That's quite a lot.” L looked very uncertain about things all of a sudden, and Light's stomach leapt uncomfortably at the thought of this opportunity slipping through his fingers.  
  
_No, no. Not now._

“L, please let me join the task force for this case." Light got to his feet and leaned far across the table towards L now, voice brimming with conviction. “I know I can be of use to you. You saw how I solved that puzzle when nobody else could. I won't be able to rest until I see this evil criminal brought to justice for their crimes, and I _know_ that if we all work together on it, we'll be able to catch them before they kill again.”

L was captivated, looking steadily back and forth between Light's eyes. “You're a very idealistic person, aren't you, Light-kun?” he asked softly after a moment. “Not many grey areas in your mind when it comes to matters such as these, are there.”

Light blinked, then slowly stood back up again. He paused and crossed his arms, very uncertain of how to respond to that.

It just seemed so out of left-field. How could L _not_ be thinking of this case in the same way? What possible grey areas could there be in a crime where someone was murdering innocent people for a pointless, taunting game? What was more plainly evil than that?

“Well... maybe I am,” Light said after a moment. “But I don't see how being idealistic could possibly be a bad thing, L. I may make strong judgments from time to time, but I put a lot of thought into them when I do, and I know I have a pretty decent sense of right and wrong.” He flicked some hair out of his eyes a little proudly.  
  
L said nothing, but he was still looking far too doubtful about everything.

Light walked slowly around the table now until he was standing right beside the detective. L tilted his head and gazed steadily up at him, his dark eyes still revealing nothing.

“You've met my father,” Light said quietly after a moment. “You've spent time working with the man who's raised me. I couldn't have asked for a better example than that when it comes to how people should be treating each other and behaving, don't you think?”

“Your father is truly an admirable example to us all,” L replied seriously. “I can't think of another man I would rather trust with the many complex responsibilities he oversees in his role.”  
  
“Mhmm,” Light nodded, slowly easing down now to sit on the arm of L's chair. L's eyes grew huge once again. Light smiled sweetly down at him and slipped a hand up onto his shoulder.  
  
“Then you should trust me, too, L,” he suggested.

He stroked L there once or twice, just barely, sliding a smooth palm up his neck and back again, with the tiniest graze of nails against his skin. L went very warm underneath his hand, visibly shivering at the nails, and Light had to fight back a triumphant smile.

Even L wasn't immune to his more personal approaches like this, it seemed. 

Light was tempted to take it further still, but now was not the time. He moved his hand again, resting it against the outer curve of L's shoulder. The touch was simple and friendly now, as though that was the only thing he'd ever meant it to be in the first place.

L stared just as boldly up at him as ever before, but there was now a tiny hint of colour in his pale complexion. Light thought it rather suited him.

“So what do you say, L?” he asked after another moment, smiling brightly. “I can come by after cram school most days, and any full days I might have off. I promise I'll let you have first crack at any crossword puzzles,” he added, somewhat dryly.

L's mouth twitched a little at that, and then he turned away to stare ahead into the room for a bit. “Hmm,” he said at last. “Light-kun certainly fancies himself quite the persuasive little character, doesn't he.”  
  
Light didn't bother dignifying that with a response. He already knew he'd won, he could tell by L's blushing, but the proud detective was just having a little trouble admitting it out loud.  
  
“I'll come by again tomorrow, and you can fill me in more on the case." He gave L's shoulder a final little squeeze. “I have to go now, though," he added, getting up to leave. "My sister still needs help with her homework.”  
  
L said nothing —but when Light glanced back, he saw that the look on his face was saying everything — and Light smiled about it all the way home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too bad we're not going with an "F" theme for the chapter titles now, or else I could title this one "Fkin' Finallyyyy," amirite?
> 
> Seriously though, trying to write a super plotty Death Note fic semi-realistically makes it so freakin' hard to get two characters in the same room and having an honest conversation about things once in a while, lol. I dare ya to try it. I'm very happy we got to this point, and I'm excited for what's to come. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)  
> -  
> EDIT 11.06.17 - Hello, guys! So sorry for the slow-ass updates; I haven't abandoned this story, I've just been a bit writer's blocked the last few months. 
> 
> Please find me on Tumblr at 13eyond13.tumblr.com if you ever want to chat in the meantime! Blathering about Death Note with other fans is like, one of my favourite things ever lol.


End file.
